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 fella's father.
Well, I can.
I bet that he'll turn out to be the
spittin' 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 mornings for our swim.
His mother can teach him the way to behave,
but she won't make
a sissy out of him.
Not him.
Not my boy.
Not Bill. Bill. My boy Bill,
I will see that he's named af ter me. I will. My boy Bill,
he'll be tall and as tough as a tree.
Well, Bill, like a tree he'll grow
with his head held high
an d his feet planted firm on the ground.
And you won't see nobody dare
to try to boss him
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, a hammer
and spikes.
He can ferry a boat on a river
or pedal 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 scowl 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 fellow that sells you glue,
or president of the United States.
that it'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.
Well, Bill, like a tree he'll grow
with his head held high
an d 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, draggy
-eyed bully will boss him around.
And I'm hanged if he'll
marry his boss's daughter,
a skinny -lipped lady with blood like water,
Who'd give him a peck and call it a kiss,
And look in his eyes through a lorgnette?
Say, why am I taking on like this?
My kid ain't even been born yet.
I can see him when
he's seventeen or so,
And starting in 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 what
if he is a girl
Oh, Bill. Bill.
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,
her kid with ribbons in her hair.
What kind of sweet and petite
little tintype of her mother
would offend 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 lead.
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 get
s hungry every night,
and she comes home to me.
I gotta get ready before she comes.
I gotta make certain that she
Won't be dragged up in slums
With a lot of bums like me
She's gotta be sheltered
and fed and 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!