SOLILOQUY

fr "Carousel"
Richard Rogers (m) Oscar Hammerstein II (l)  1945

as rec by Frank Sinatra w Orch cond by Axel Stordahl  1946


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 every other feller's father, well I can!
I guess 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 morning for a 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!

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, will Bill!
Like a tree he'll grow with his head held high
And his feet held firm on the ground,
And you won't see nobody dare to try to boss him or toss him around;
No fat bellied , bully eyed bully will bag 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 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 horse and a whip 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 feller who sells you glue,
Or President of The United States,
That'd be alright too!

His mother would like that, but he wouldn't be President unless he wanted to be,
No sir, 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 him or toss him around;
No flat footed , baggy eyed bull'll boss him around!

And I'm darned if he'll marry his bosses 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' to go with a girl.
There are lots of pointers that he oughta know
on the way to get 'round any girl!

I could show him - wait a minute!
Could it be?
What the heck!
What if he is a girl?
Well 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 gotta 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 mommy, what a pair!

When I have a daughter, I'll stand around a bar room,
Oh how I'll boast and blow!
Friends will see me coming and empty all the bar room,
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 fellers of two and three,
But my little girl gets hungry every 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 of bums like me!
She's gotta be sheltered and fed and dressed with the best that 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!



(Transcribed by Peter Akers - April 2012)