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