Soliloquy

Soliloquy - John Raitt/Howard Keel

I wonder what he'll think 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 spittin' image of his dad

But he'll have more common sense

Than his puddin-headed father ever had

I'll teach him to wrestle

And dive through a wave

When we go in the mornin's 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

Will boss him around

I don't give a hang what he does

As long as he does what he likes

He can sit on his tail

Or work on a rail

With a hammer 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 maybe bark for a carousel

Of course it takes talent to do that well

He might be a champ of the heavyweights

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 if he didn't wanna be

Not Bill

My boy Bill He'll be tall

And as 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 him or toss him around

No fat-bottomed flabby-faced

Pot-bellied baggy-eyed bully

Will boss him around

And I'm hanged if he'll marry his boss' 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 lorgnette

Hey why am I talkin' on like this

My kid ain't even been born yet

I can see him when he's seventeen or so

And startin' to go with a girl

I can give him lots of pointers very sound

On the way to get 'round 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 gotta be a father to a girl

She mightn't be so bad at that

A kid with ribbons in her hair

A kind o' sweet 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 or three

But my little girl

Gets hungry every night and she comes 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

In a fair hand dressed

In the best that money can buy

I never knew how to get money

But I'll try I'll try I'll try

I'll go out and make it or steal it

Or take it or die