Carousel, Act I: Soliloquy

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 spit an' 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!

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!

Like a tree, he'll grow

With his head held high

And his feet planted firm on the ground

And you won't see no-body dare to try

To boss him or toss him around!

No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll boss 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, a-hammerin' 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 the heavyweights

Or a feller that sells you glue

Or President of the United States

That'd be all right, too

His mother'd 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 no-body dare to try

To boss him or toss him around!

No fat-bottomed, flabby-face, pot-bellied

Baggy-eyed bastard'll boss him around!

And I'm damned if he'll marry his boss's 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 lorgnette

Say! Why am I takin' on like this?

My kid ain't even been born yet!

I can see him when he's seventeen or so

And startin' in to go with a girl!

I can give him lots o' 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?

Bill!

Oh, Bill!

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 mightn't be so bad at that

A kid with ribbons in her hair

A kind o' sweet and petite little tintype of her mother

What a pair!

When I have a daughter

I'll stand around in bar-rooms

Oh, how I'll boast and blow!

Friends'll see me comin'

And empty all the bar-rooms

Through ev'ry door they'll go

Weary of hearin' day after day

The same old things that I always say

My little girl, sweet and light

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, sweet and light

Young fellers of two or three

But my little girl gets hungry ev'ry night

And she comes home to me

My little girl!

My little girl!

I've 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 fed, and dressed

In the best that 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!