Soliloquy - from "Carousel"

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 fella's father
 Well, I can
 I bet 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 morning for our swim
 His mother can teach him the way to behave
 But she won't make a sissy outta him
 Not him! Not my boy! Not Bill
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 My boy Bill, I will see that he's 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 him or toss him around
 No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll boss him around
 I don't give a darn 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 and hammer some 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 even bark for a carousel
 Of course, it takes talent to do that well
 He might be champ of the heavyweights
 Or a fella who 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, he will
 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 him or toss him around
 No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, bully'll boss him around
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 And I'm darned if he'll marry his boss's daughter
 A skinny-lipped wench 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 of pointers, very sound
 On the way to get 'round any girl
 I can tell him
 Wait a minute...
 Could it be?
 What the heck
 What if he, is a girl?
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 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 of neat and petite little tin-type 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 coming
 And empty all the bar rooms
 Through every door they'll go
 Weary of hearing
 Day after day
 The same old things that I always say
 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 fellas, of two and three
 But my little girl gets hungry ev'ry night, and she comes home to me
 I gotta get ready before she comes
 I gotta make certain that she won't be brought up in slums with a lot a' bums like me
 She's gotta be sheltered and fed and dressed, with the best that money can buy
 Never knew how to get money but, I'll try, by God! I'll try
 I'll go out and make it, or take it
 Or steal it or die