I used to dream that I would discover
The perfect lover someday.
I knew I’d recognize him if ever
He came ‘round my way.
I always used to fancy then
He’d be one of the godlike kind of men
With a giant brain and a noble head,
Like the heroes bold in the books I’ve read.

But along came Bill,
Who’s not the type at all,
You’d meet him on the street
And never notice him.
His form and face,
His manly grace
Are not the kind that you
Would find in a statue.

And I can’t explain,
It’s surely not his brain
That makes me thrill.
I love him because he’s wonderful,
Because he’s just my Bill.

He can’t play golf or tennis or polo,
Or sing a solo, or row.
He is not half as handsome
As dozens of men that I know.
He is not tall and straight and slim,
And he dresses far worse than Ted or Jim.
And I can’t explain why he should be
Just the one, one man in the world for me.

He’s just my Bill
An ordinary guy,
He hasn’t got a thing that I can brag about.
And yet to be
Upon his knee,
So comfy and roomy,
Seems natural to me.

And I can’t explain,
It’s surely not his brain
That makes me thrill.
I love him because he’s—
I don’t know.
Because he’s just my Bill.