Soliloquy

"Soliloquy" is a song featured in Frank Sinatra's 1963 album, The Concert Sinatra.

A live performance can be found on Sinatra 80th: Live in Concert.

Lyrics
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!