Well, I am just a poor boy

Though my story seldom told

I have squandered my resistance

For a pocket full of mumbles such as promises

All lies in jest still the 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 stations running scared

Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters

Where the ragged people go

Looking for the places only they would know

Lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie, Lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-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 7th avenue

I do declare

There were times when I was so lonesome

I took some comfort there

And I'm laying out my winter clothes

And wishing I was home, going home

Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me

Leading me, going home

Lie-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie-lie

In the clearing stands a boxer

And a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders

Of every glove that laid him down

And cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame

I am leaving, I am leaving

But the fighter still remains

Oh, lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie, Lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie, Lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie

Lie-lie-lie, Lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie