I am just a poor boy
Though my story is seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises,all lies, and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest Mm mm....
When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers,
In the quiet of a railway station
Running scared, laying low,
Seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know
Lie-la-lie
Asking only workman's wages
I come 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 Ooo-la-la
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone, going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
Leading me, going home
In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
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