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 fella’s father
Well, I can

I bet 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 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 is 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 or toss him around
No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully’ll boss 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 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 a champ of the heavyweights
Or a fella that sells you glue
Or President of the United States
Hmm, that’d be all right, too

His mother would like that
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 or toss him around
No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced bully’ll boss him around

And I’ll be darned if he’ll marry his boss’s daughter
A skinny-lipped virgin 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?

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 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

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 every night
And she comes home to me

I gotta get ready before she comes
I gotta make certain that she
Won’t be dragged up in slums with a lot o' 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 gosh, I’ll try

I’ll go out and make it or steal it
Or take it or die