Writers: Rodgers/Hammerstein



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