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I wonder what he'll think of meI guess he'll call me the "old man"I guess he'll think I can lickEvery other feller's fatherWell, I can!I bet that he'll turn out to beThe spittin' image of his dadBut he'll have more common senseThan his puddin-headed father ever hadI'll teach him to wrestleAnd dive through a waveWhen we go in the mornin's for our swimHis mother can teach himThe way to behaveBut she won't make a sissy out o' himNot him! Not my boy! Not Bill!Bill, my boy BillI will see that he is named after me, I will.My boy, Bill! He'll be tallAnd tough as a tree, will Bill!Like a tree he'll growWith his head held highAnd his feet planted firm on the groundAnd you won't see nobody dare to tryTo boss or toss him around!Letras de cancionesNo pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bullyWill boss him around.I don't give a hang what he doesAs long as he does what he likes!He can sit on his tailOr work on a railWith a hammer, hammering spikes!He can ferry a boat on a riverOr peddle a pack on his backOr work up and downThe streets of a townWith a whip and a horse and a hack.He can haul a scow along a canalRun a cow around a corralOr maybe bark for a carouselOf course it takes talent to do that well.Aha-ha-ha-ha!He might be a champ of the heavyweights,Or a feller that sells you glue,Or President of the United States,That'd be all right, tooHis mother would like thatBut he wouldn't be President if he didn't wanna be!Not Bill!My boy, Bill! He'll be tallAnd as tough as a tree, will BillLike a tree he'll growWith his head held highAnd his feet planted firm on the groundAnd you won't see nobody dare to tryTo boss him or toss him around!No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced,Pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bullyWill boss him around.And I'm hanged if he'll marry his boss' daughterA skinny-lipped virgin with blood like waterWho'll give him a peckAnd call it a kissAnd look in his eyes through a lorgnette...Hey, 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 girlI can give him lots of pointers, very soundOn the way to get 'round any girlI can tell himWait 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 sonBut you gotta be a father to a girlShe mightn't be so bad at thatA kid with ribbons in her hair!A kind o' sweet and petiteLittle tin-type of her mother!What a pair!My little girlPink and whiteAs peaches and cream is sheMy little girlIs half again as brightAs girls are meant to be!Dozens of boys pursue herMany a likely lad does what he can to woo herFrom her faithful dadShe has a fewPink and white young fellers of two or threeBut my little girlGets hungry every night and she comes home to me!I got to get ready before she comes!I got to make certain that sheWon't be dragged up in slumsWith a lot o' bums like meShe's got to be shelteredIn a fair hand dressedIn the best that money can buy!I never knew how to get money,But, I'll try, I'll try! I'll try!I'll go out and make it or steal itOr take it or die! From Letras Mania