I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles
Such are promises.
All lies and jest till the man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest. mmmmmmmhmmmm....
When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers, in the quiet of the railway station, running scared.
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know.
(Join in, everyone!) Lie la lie, li la la li lie lie, Lie la lie.
Seeking only workman's wages I go looking for a job but I get no offers
Just a come on from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there, la la la la la.
Now I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone, going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me.....bleeding me, going home.
In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries a reminder of every glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out, in his anger and his shame
I am leaving I am leaving but the fighter still remains mnnmmmm...