Soliloquy - Frank Sinatra Letras de músicas - Letra da música Soliloquy

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Soliloquy letra


    >> Todas as letras de "Frank Sinatra"
    >> Frank Sinatra
        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 feller'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 mornin's for our swim
    His mother can teach him
    The way to behave
    But she won't make a sissy out o' him
    Not him! Not my boy! Not Bill!
    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 toss 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, hammering 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 maybe bark for a carousel
    Of course it takes talent to do that well
    He might be a champ of theheavyweights
    Or a feller that 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, 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 fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bastard'll boss
    him around
    And I'll be damned if he'll marry the boss' 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 lorgnet
    Say, 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 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 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 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 o' neat and petite
    Little tin-type of her mother!
    What a pair!
    I can just hear myself bragging about her!
    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 ev'ry night and she come home to me!
    My little girl, my little girl!
    I got to get ready before she comes!
    I got to make certain that she
    Won't be dragged up in slums
    With a lot o' bums like me
    She's got to be sheltered
    And be dressed in the best 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!

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