Soliloquy, Pt. 1 {From Carousel} Songtext
von 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 fella's father
Well, I can

I bet 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 morning for our swim
His mother can teach him the way to behave
But she won′t make a sissy outta him
Not him! Not my boy! Not Bill


My boy Bill, I will see that he's 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 him or toss him around
No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully′ll boss him around

I don′t give a darn 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 and hammer some 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 champ of the heavyweights
Or a fella who 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, he 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 him or toss him around
No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, bully′ll boss him around


And I'm darned if he'll marry his boss′s daughter
A skinny-lipped wench with blood like water
Who′ll give him a peck and call it a kiss
And look in his eyes through a lorgnette
Say, why am I takin' on like this?
My kid ain′t even been born yet

I can see him when he's seventeen or so
And startin′ in 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 heck
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 of neat and petite little tin-type of her mother
What a pair!

When I have a daughter
I'll stand around in bar rooms
Oh how I'll boast and blow
Friends′ll see me coming
And empty all the bar rooms
Through every door they′ll go
Weary of hearing
Day after day
The same old things that I always say

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 fellas, of two and three
But my little girl gets hungry ev'ry night, and she comes home to me

I gotta get ready before she comes
I gotta make certain that she won′t be brought up in slums with a lot a' bums like me
She′s gotta be sheltered and fed and dressed, with the best that money can buy
Never knew how to get money but, I'll try, by God! I′ll try
I'll go out and make it, or take it
Or steal it or die