When I found out that we
were playing
with the fantastic Philharmonic,
there was a piece of music
that I would like to do.
It's about, like, being a father.
Alan, if you would, please.
Some Carousel.
I wonder what he'll think of me
I bet he'll call me the old man
And I'll bet he'll think I can lick any other
fella's father well I can
And I bet that he turns out to be
the spittin' image of his dad
And he'll have more common sense
than his puddin' headed
father ever had
And I'll teach him to wrestle
and dive through wave
When we go in the mornings for a swim
His mother can teach him
the way to behave
But she won't make a sissy out of him
Not him, not my boy,
not Bill
Cause 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 Will Bill
And 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 force him or toss him around
No pop -bellied, baggy -eyed bully
Will force him around
I don't give a damn what he does
Just as long as he does what he likes
He can sit on his tail or work on a rail
With a hammer and hammer and spikes
He can ferry a boat on a river
Or pedal a pack on his back,
or just walk up and down
the streets of a town
with a whip and a horse and a hack.
He can hold a scowl along a canal,
or run a cow around the corral,
or maybe sing an d play the guitar.
Of course, doing that,
you can't get too far.
He might be champ of the heavyweights,
or a fella that sells you glue.
A president of the United States,
that'd be all right, too
But he wouldn't be president
unless he wanted to be, not my Bill
Cause my boy Bill, he'll be tall
and as tough as a tree will build
And like a tree he'll grow
with his head held high
and his feet planted firm on the ground
An d you won't see nobody dare to try
To boss him or toss him around
No!
Potbellied, flabby -faced,
baggy -eyed, pot -bellied bully
Don't boss him around
And I'm damned if you'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
and look in his eyes through a lorn yet
But say what am I talking about?
My kid ain't even been born yet,
but I can see him when he's 17 or so
And just starting in to go with a girl
And I can give him lots
of pointers very sound
On the way to get round any girl,
I can tell him.
Yeah, Dad can tell him.
But what if him turns out
to be a girl?
What do you say to a girl
that you can't say to the boy?
You can have fun with a son,
but you've got to 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 tin type of her mother,
what a pair!
My little girl, pink and bright,
as peaches and cream as she
And my little girl is half again
as bright as girls were meant to be
Yes, dozens of boys
pursue her
There's many a likely lad,
does what he can to woo her,
from her fateful dad.
Yes, she has a few,
pink and bright young fellas,
Of two and three
Oh, but my little girl
Gets hungry every night
And she comes home to me
I gotta get ready before she comes
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
I never knew how to get money
But I'll try, my God, I'll try
I'll go out and make it, or steal it,
or take it, or die!
Thank you very much.
What a great man.