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Soliloquy

The Way It Is专辑

  • 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
  • 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

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