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 w
inter 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