Soliloquy: accordi di
Gordon Macrae
Gordon Macrae

N/A
Tonalità: D major
Verse 1
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I wonder what he'll think of me.
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I guess he'll call me the old man.
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I guess he'll think I can lick every
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other fella's father.
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Well, I can.
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I bet that he'll turn out to be the
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spittin' of his dad,
but he'll have more common sense
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than his puddin' -headed
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father ever had.
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I'll teach him to wrestle and
dive through a wave
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when we go in the mornings for our swim.
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His mother can teach him the way to behave,
but she won't make
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Caug
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a sissy out of him.
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Not him.
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Not my boy.
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Not Bill. Bill. My boy Bill,
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I will see that he's named af ter me. I will. My boy Bill,
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he'll be tall and as tough as a tree.
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Well, Bill, like a tree he'll grow
with his head held high
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an d his feet planted firm on the ground.
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And you won't see nobody dare
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to try to boss him
or toss him around.
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No pot -bellied, baggy -eyed bully
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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
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and spikes.
He can ferry a boat on a river
or pedal a pack on his back.
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Or work up and down
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the streets of a town
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with a whip and a horse and a hack.
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He can haul a scowl along a canal,
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run a cow around a corral,
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or maybe bark for a carousel.
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Of course,
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it takes talent to do that well.
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He might be a champ of the heavyweights,
or a fellow that sells you glue,
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or president of the United States.
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that it'd be all right too.
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His mother would like that,
but he wouldn't be president
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unless he wanted to be.
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Not Bill. My boy Bill,
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he'll be tall and as tough as a tree.
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Well, Bill, like a tree he'll grow
with his head held high
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an d his feet planted firm on the ground.
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And you won't see nobody
dare to try to boss him
or toss him around.
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No fat -bottomed, flabby -faced, pot -bellied, draggy
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-eyed bully will boss him around.
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And I'm hanged if he'll
marry his boss's daughter,
a skinny -lipped lady with blood like water,
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Who'd give him a peck and call it a kiss,
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And look in his eyes through a lorgnette?
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Gb
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Say, why am I taking on like this?
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My kid ain't even been born yet.
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I can see him when
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he's seventeen or so,
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And starting in to go with a girl.
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I can give him lots of pointers
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very sound on the way to get
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around any girl
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F#
F#
I can tell him wait a minute
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could it be what the what
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E
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if he is a girl
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Oh, Bill. Bill.
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What would I do with her?
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What could I do for her?
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A bum with no money.
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You can have fun with a son
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But you gotta be a father to a girl
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She mightn't be so bad at that,
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her kid with ribbons in her hair.
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What kind of sweet and petite
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little tintype of her mother
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would offend my little girl?
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Pink and white as peaches
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and cream is she.
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My little girl is half again
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as bright as girls are meant to be.
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Dozens of boys pursue her,
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many a likely lead.
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Does what he can to woo her ,
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from her faithful dad.
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She has a few pink and white
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young fellers of two or three.
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But my little girl get
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s hungry every night,
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and she comes home to me.
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I gotta get ready before she comes.
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I gotta make certain that she
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Won't be dragged up in slums
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With a lot of bums like me
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She's gotta be sheltered
and fed and dressed
In the best that money can buy
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I never knew how to get money
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But I'll try, I'll try
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I'll try, I'll go out and make it,
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or steal it, or take it, or die!

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