I am just a poor boy. <br />Though my story's seldom told, <br />I have squandered my resistance <br />For a pocketful of mumbles, <br />Such are promises <br />All lies and jest <br />Still, a man hears what he wants to hear <br />And disregards the rest. <br /> <br />When I left my home <br />And my family, <br />I was no more than a boy <br />In the company of strangers <br />In the quiet of the railway station, <br />Running scared, <br />Laying low, <br />Seeking out the poorer quarters <br />Where the ragged people go, <br />Looking for the places <br />Only they would know. <br /> <br />Lie-la-lie... <br /> <br />Asking only workman's wages <br />I come looking for a job, <br />But I get no offers, <br />Just a come-on from the whores <br />On Seventh Avenue <br />I do declare, <br />There were times when I was so <br />lonesome <br />I took some comfort there. <br /> <br />Lie-la-lie... <br /> <br />Then I'm laying out my winter clothes <br />And wishing I was gone, <br />Going home <br />Where the New York City winters <br />Aren't bleeding me, <br />Leading me, <br />Going home. <br /> <br />In the clearing stands a boxer, <br />And a fighter by his trade <br />And he carries the reminders <br />Of ev'ry glove that laid him down <br />And cut him till he cried out <br />In his anger and his shame, <br />"I am leaving, I am leaving." <br />But the fighter still remains <br /> <br />Lie-la-lie...
