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 that he turns 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 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 boss 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 and hammer in 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 *** 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 the heavyweights

Or a fella that sells you glue

Or President of the United States

That'd be all right, too Spoken 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 bully'll boss him around And I'll be damned if he'll marry his boss's 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 *lorgnette*

Hey, 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 hell

What if he is a girl?

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 My little girl, pink and white as peaches and cream is she

My little girl is half again as bright as girls were 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

Gotta make certain that she won't be dragged up in slums with a lot o' bums like me

She's gotta be sheltered and fed and dressed in the best that 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