Intro: Bm E9 Bm E9
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I wonder what he'll think of me! I guess he'll call me old man"
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I guess he'll think I can lick ev'ry other feller's father well, I can
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I bet that he'll turn out to be the spittin' image of his dad
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But he'll have more common sense than his pudding headed father ever had
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I'll teach him to wrassle, and dive through a wave when we go in the mornin's for our swim
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His mother can teach him the way to behave, but she won't make a sissy out o' him
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Not him! Not my boy! Not Bill! Bill!
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My boy Bill! I will see that he is named after me, I will
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My boy, Bill! He'll be tall and tough as a tree, will Bill
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Like a tree he'll grow with his head held high and his feet planted firm on the ground
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And you won't see nobody dare to try to boss or toss him around
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No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll boss him around
moto
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I don't give a damn what he does as long as he does what he likes
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He can sit on his tail or work on a rail with a hammer a hammering spikes
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He can ferry a boat on a river or peddle a pack on his back or work up and down
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The streets of a town with a whip and a horse and a hack he can haul a scow along a canal
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Run a cow around a corral or maybe bark for a carrousel
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Of course it takes talent to do that well
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He might be a champ of the heavyweights or a feller that sells you glue
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Or President of the United States that'd be all right, too
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His mother would like that but he wouldn't be President unless he wanted to be not Bill
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My boy, Bill! He'll be tall and as tough as a tree, will Bill!
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Like a tree he'll grow with his head held high and his feet planted firm on the ground
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And you won't see nobody dare to try to boss or toss him around!
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No fat bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bastard'll boss him around
moto
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And I'll be damned if he'll marry the boss' daughter a skinny-lipped virgin with blood like water
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Who'll give him a peck and call it a kiss and look in his eyes through a lorgnette
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Say, why am I talkin' on like this? My kid ain't even been born, yet
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I can see him when he's seventeen or so and startin' to go with a girl
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I can give him lots of pointers, very sound on the way to get 'round any girl
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I can tell him wait a minute! Could it be? What the hell! What if he is a girl
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What would I do with her? What could I do for her? A bum with no money
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You can have fun with a son, but you got to be a father to a girl
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She mighn't be so bad at that a kid with ribbons in her hair
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A kind o' neat and petite little tin-type of her mother! What a pair
I can just hear myself bragging about her
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My little girl pink and white as peaches and cream is she
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My little girl is half again as bright as girls are meant to be
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Dozens of boys pursue her, many a likely lad
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Does what he can to woo her from her faithful dad
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She has a few pink and white young fellers of two and three
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But my little girl gets hungry ev'ry night and she come home to me
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I got to get ready before she comes
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I got to make certain that she won't be dragged up in slums
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With a lot o' bums like me she's got to be sheltered and fed and dressed
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In the best money can buy! I never knew how to get money
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But, I'll try, by God! I'll try! I'll go out and make it or steal it or take it or die