I wonder what
he'll think of me.
I bet he'll call me the old man.
I bet he'll think I can lick every
other fella's father.
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 wrestle
and dive through a wave
when we go in the mornings for a swim
His mother can teach him the way to behave,
but you 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.
Little 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
Will boss him around
And 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 a hammer and spikes
he can ferry a boat on a river
a paddle a pack on his back
i'll work up and down the
streets of a town
with a whip and a horse and a hat
he can haul a scow along the canal
run a cow around the crown
only be bought for a carousel
Of course, it takes talent to do that.
Well, he might be the champ
of the heavyweight.
No, no, no, no, Seljuklu,
or President of the United States.
That'll be all right, too.
Of course, he wouldn't be President
unless he wanted to be.
No, sir, he no, no, no, no, no, not Bill!
No, my boy Bill.
He'll be tall, and his tongue has a tree.
We'll build 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 -bottomed,
flabby -faced,
pot -bellied, baggy -eyed bastard'll
boss him around
And I'm damned if
we'll marry his boss's daughter
A skinny -lipped virgin
with blood -like water
We'll give him a peck and call it a kiss
An d look in his eye
s through a lornet
What am I talking about?
My kid ain't even been born yet
I can see him when he's
seventeen or so
I'm 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.
What am I talking about?
What? What if, what if, no.
What if he's a girl?
Oh, Bill.
Oh, Bill, Bill.
What would I do with her?
What could I do for her?
I'm 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 tintype of a mother,
what a pearl!
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 lie.
He does what he can to woo her
from her faithful dad.
She has a few pink and white
young fellas of two or three.
But my little girl gets
hungry every night,
and she comes home to me.
My little girl, oh 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.
But I never know how to get money,
but I'll try, thank God I'll try.
Who will go out and take it, or kill it, or take it,
or die?
Mandy Patinkin 
