| I am just a poor boy | |
| Though my story's seldom told | |
| I have squandered my resistance | |
| For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises | |
| All lies and jests | |
| Still a man hears what he wants to hear | |
| And disregards the rest | |
| 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 | |
| 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 | |
| Lie la lie ... | |
| 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 ev'ry glove that layed 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 | |
| Lie la lie ... |
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