Luyện nghe bài hát Soliloquy

I wonder he'll think of me
I guess call me "the old man"
I guess think I can lick
Ev'ry fella's father
Well, I can

I bet he turns out to be
The spittin' of his dad
But he'll more common sense
his puddin'-headed father ever had

I'll him to wrassle and dive through a wave
When we go in the for our swim
His mother can him the way to behave
But she won't a sissy out o' him
Not him! Not my boy! Not

Bill. I will see he is named after me, I will
My boy, Bill, be tall and tough as a tree, will Bill
Like a tree he'll grow with his head high
And his planted firm on the ground
And you won't see dare to try to boss or toss him around
No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll him around

I don't give a damn what he as long as he does what he likes
He can sit on his tail or work on a rail a hammer and hammer in spikes
He can ferry a boat on a river or peddle a pack on his
Or work up and down the streets of a with a whip and a horse and a hack

He can haul a scow a canal
Run a cow around a
Or bark for a carousel
Of course, it takes talent to do well

He be a champ of the heavyweights
Or a fella that sells you
Or President of the States
be all right, too

Spoken His mother would like that, but he be President unless he wanted to be
Not

My boy, Bill he'll be tall and as as a tree, will Bill
a tree he'll grow with his head held high
And his feet firm on the ground
And you won't see dare to try to boss or toss him around
No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll boss him

And I'll be damned if he'll marry his daughter
A skinny-lipped virgin with blood like
Who'll him a peck and call it a kiss
And look in his through a *lorgnette*
Hey, why am I on like this?
My kid ain't even been yet

I can see him he's seventeen or so
And in to go with a girl
I can give him of pointers
sound, on the way to get 'round any girl
I can him
a minute
it be?
What the
What if he is a
You can have fun a son
But you got to be a father to a

She be so bad, at that
A kid ribbons in her hair
A kind of neat and petite tin-type of her mother
What a

My little girl, pink and white as peaches and is she
My little girl is half again as as girls were meant to be
Dozens of boys pursue her, a likely lad
Does what he can to woo her from her dad

She has a few pink and young fellas of two and three
But my girl gets hungry ev'ry night and she comes home to me

I get ready before she comes
Gotta make certain that she won't be dragged up in with a lot o' bums like me
She's gotta be sheltered and fed and in the best that money can buy
I never knew how to get but, I'll try, by God! I'll try
I'll go out and make it or it
Or it or die