Soliloquy

Soliloquy - Frank Sinatra (弗蘭克·辛納屈)

I wonder what think he'll of me

I guess he'll call me the "old man"

I guess he'll think I can lick

Every other feller's father

Well I can

I bet that he'll turn out to be

The spitting image of his dad

But he'll have more common sense

Than his puddin-headed father ever had

I'll teach him to wrassle

And dive through a wave

When we go in the morning for our swim

His mother can teach him

The way to behave

But she won't make a sissy out o' him

Not him Not my boy Not Bill

My boy Bill I will see that

He is named after me I will

My boy Bill He'll be tall

And tough as a tree will Bill

Like a tree he'll grow

With his head held high

And his feet planted firm on the ground

And you won't see nobody dare to try

To boss or toss him around

No pot-bellied

Baggy-eyed bully'll toss him around

Don't give I a damn what he does

As long as he does what he likes

He can sit on his tail

Or work on a rail

A hammer With hammering spikes

He can ferry a boat on a river

Or peddle a pack on his back

Or work up and down

The streets of a town

With a whip and a horse and a hack

He can haul a scow along a canal

Run a cow around a corral

Or even bark for a carousel

Of course it takes talent to do that well

He might be a champ of theheavyweights

Or a feller that sells you glue

Or President of the United States

That'd be all right too

His mother would like that

But he wouldn't be President unless he wanted to be

Not Bill

My boy Bill He'll be tall

And as tough as a tree Bill will

Like a tree he'll grow

With his head held high

And his feet planted firm on the ground

And you won't see nobody dare to try

To boss or toss him around

No fat-bottomed flabby-faced pot-bellied

Boss him around

And I'll be damned if he'll marry the boss's daughter

A skinny-lipped virgin with blood like water

Who'll give him a peck

And call it a kiss

And look in his eyes through a lorgnet

Say why am I talking on like this

My kid ain't even been born yet

I can see him when he's seventeen or so

And starting to go with a girl

I can give him lots of pointers very sound

On the way to get around any girl

I can tell him

Wait a minute

Could it be

What the hell

What if he is a girl

What would I do with her

What could I do for her

A bum with no money

You can have fun with a son

But you got to be a father to a girl

She mighn't be so bad at that

A kid with ribbons in her hair

A kind o' neat and petite

Little tin-type of her mother

What a pair

My little girl

Pink and white

As peaches and cream is she

My little girl

Is half again as bright

As girls are meant to be

Dozens of boys pursue her

Many a likely lad does what he can to woo her

From her faithful dad

She has a few

Pink and white young fellers of two and three

But my little girl

Gets hungry every night

And she come home to me

I got to get ready before she comes

I got to make certain that she

Won't be dragged up in slums

With a lot o' bums like me

She's got to be sheltered

And be dressed in the best money can buy

I never knew how to get money

But I'll try by God I'll try

I'll go out and make it or steal it

Or take it or die