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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 hores 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 ev'ry 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.
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