歌曲 | Soliloquy |
歌手 | Frank Sinatra |
专辑 | A Man and His Music [Reprise] |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
Lyrics:Oscar Hammerstein Ii Music:Richard Rodgers Arranger:Axel Stordahl | |
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! |
Lyrics: Oscar Hammerstein Ii Music: Richard Rodgers Arranger: Axel Stordahl | |
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 puddinheaded 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 potbellied, baggyeyed 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 fatbottomed, flabbyfaced, potbellied, baggyeyed bastard' ll boss | |
him around | |
And I' ll be damned if he' ll marry the boss' daughter | |
A skinnylipped 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 tintype 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! |
Lyrics: Oscar Hammerstein Ii Music: Richard Rodgers Arranger: Axel Stordahl | |
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 puddinheaded 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 potbellied, baggyeyed 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 fatbottomed, flabbyfaced, potbellied, baggyeyed bastard' ll boss | |
him around | |
And I' ll be damned if he' ll marry the boss' daughter | |
A skinnylipped 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 tintype 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! |