I won der
what you think of me.
I guess you call me the old man.
I guess you think I can lick every
other fella's father.
Well, I can.
I bet that he'll turn out to be
the spitting image of his dad,
but he'll have more common sense
than his puddin' -headed
father ever had.
I'll teach him to wrestle and
dive through a wave
when we go in the mornings for our swim.
His mother can teach him the way to behave,
but she won't make a sissy out of him.
Not him, not my boy, not Bill! 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
Well, Bill, like a tree he'll grow
with his head held high
And his feet planted firm on the ground
An d you won't see nobody
dare to try
To boss him or toss him around
The 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, a hammer and spikes
He can ferry a boat on a river
Or pedal 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 heavyweights,
or a fellow that sells you glue,
or President of the United States.
That'd be all right, too. Yeah,
his mother would like that,
but he wouldn't be present
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.
An d 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
Oh, boss him around
And I'm darned if he'll marry his
boss's daughter
A skinny -lipped virgin with
blood like water
Give him a peck and call it a kiss
And look in his eyes through a lorgnette
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 and eager.
I can tell him...
Wait a minute.
Could it be?
What the heck?
What if he's a girl?
Bill. Oh, Bill.
What would I do with her?
What could I do for her?
Me, a bum with no money?
You can't have fun with a son
But you got ta be a father
To a girl
She mightn'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
I can just hear myself
just bragging about her now.
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.
He does what he can to woo her
from her faithful dad.
She has a few faint and white
young fel las of two or three.
But my little girl gets hungry
every night.
And she comes home to me
My little girl
My little girl
I gotta get ready before she comes
I gotta make certain that she
Won't be dragged up in slums
With a lot of bums like me
She's gotta be sheltered and fed and
dressed in the best that money can buy.
I never knew how to get money,
but I'll try, thank God, I'll try.
I'll go out and make it, or steal it,
or take it, or die!
Edmund Hockridge 
