Soliloquy Lyrics - The Concert Sinatra - Frank Sinatra

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 

Ev'ry 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 wrassle 

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! 

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 

I don't give a damn 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 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, 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 fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bastard'll boss 

him around 

And I'll be damned if he'll marry the 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 lorgnet 

Say, 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 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! 

I can just hear myself bragging about her! 

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 ev'ry night and she come home to me! 

My little girl, my little girl! 

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! 

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