Soliloquy, Pts. 1 & 2 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 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 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 out o' 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 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 pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll boss him around
I don′t give a damn what he does
As long as he does what he likes
He can carry a pale 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 a champ of the heavyweights
Or a feller who sells you glue
Or President of the United States
Hmm? That′d be alright, too
His mother would like that
Yes, sir
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 flat-footed, flabby-faced, bully'll boss him around
And I′m damned if he'll marry his boss' 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?
Well, 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
When I have a daughter,
I'll stand around in ballrooms
Oh, how I'll boast and blow
Friends′ll see me comin′
And empty all the ballrooms
Through every door they'll go
Weary of hearin′, 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 fellers of two and 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 brought up in slums
With a lot of bums like me
She′s got to be sheltered and fed and dressed
With the best that money can buy
I never knew how to get money
But, I'll try, by Gosh! I′ll try
I'll go out and make it or steal it
Or take it or die