Re-posted by Nicholas Stix
This sounds like the 1962 rendition, from the Concert Sinatra, which is Sinatra’s best. He sang the song during the 1940s (1946?), but botched the lyrics at the end, and didn’t do a retake and fix his mistake. Here, he gets it right.
When my son was a newborn, I used to hold him in my arms, and sing an abbreviated version of this to him, all the time.
I know of possible equals—“Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man”—but of no greater song. Think otherwise? Then drop me a line.
Soliloquy
Music by Richard Rodgers
Lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II
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 mornins 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
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 the heavy weights,
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 him or toss him around!
No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied,
Baggy-eyed bully will boss him around.
And I’m damned if he'll marry his 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 taking on like this?
My kid ain't even been born, yet!
I can see him when he's seventeen or so,
And starting 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've 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 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 come home to me!
I got to get ready before she comes!
I got to make certain that she,
Won't be dragged up in slums,
With a lotta of bums like me!
She's got to 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!
Uploaded on Dec 27, 2010 by OlivaresPercy.
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