I'm 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 still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
Mh - mh.
When I left my home and 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 comeon from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
I do declare
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there
Oh la la
La la
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
Mh - mh.
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 an his shame:
I am leaving, I am leaving!
But the fighter still remains
Mh - mh.