Soliloquy - from "Carousel"

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 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 morning for our swim

His mother can teach him the way to behave

But she won't make a sissy outta 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 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 boss him around

I don't give a darn 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 some 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 even bark for a carousel

Of course, it takes talent to do that well

He might be champ of the heavyweights

Or a fella who 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, he will

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, bully'll boss him around

And I'm darned if he'll marry his boss's daughter

A skinny-lipped wench with blood like water

Who'll give him a peck and call it a kiss

And look in his eyes through a lorgnette

Say, 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 heck

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 of neat and petite little tin-type of her mother

What a pair!

When I have a daughter

I'll stand around in bar rooms

Oh how I'll boast and blow

Friends'll see me coming

And empty all the bar rooms

Through every door they'll go

Weary of hearing

Day after day

The same old things that I always say

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 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

I gotta make certain that she won't be brought up in slums with a lot a' bums like me

She's gotta be sheltered and fed and dressed, with the best that money can buy

Never knew how to get money but, I'll try, by God! I'll try

I'll go out and make it, or take it

Or steal it or die