I am 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 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

Lookin' for the places only they would know

Well lie-la-lie

Lie-la-la-lie 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

And I'm laying out my winter clothes

And wishing I was home

Going home

Where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me

Leading me, going home

Well lie-la-la-la-la-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

Well lie-la-lie

Lie-la-la-lie, la-la-lie...