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I am just a poor boy |
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Though my story is seldom told |
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I have squandered my resistance |
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For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises |
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All lies and jest |
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Still a man hears what he wants to hear |
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And disregards the rest |
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When I left my home and my family |
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I was no more than a boy |
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In the company of strangers |
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In the quiet of the railway station, runnin' scared |
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Layin' low, seekin' out the poorer quarters |
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Where the ragged people go |
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Lookin' for the places, only they would know |
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Lie-la-lie |
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Asking only workman's wages |
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I come lookin' for a job |
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But I get no offers, just a come on |
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From the whores on |
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Seventh Avenue |
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I do declare there were times |
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When I was so lonesome |
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I took some comfort there |
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La, la, la, la, la, la, la |
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Lie-la-lie |
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And I'm layin' out my winter clothes |
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And wishin' |
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I was gone, goin' home |
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Where the |
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New York City winters aren't bleedin' me |
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Leadin' me home, goin' home |
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In the clearing stands |
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A boxer and a fighter by his trade |
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And he carries the reminders |
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Of every glove that laid him down |
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Or cut him 'til he cried out |
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In his anger and his shame "I am leavin', I am leavin'" |
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But the fighter still remains, still remains |
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Lie-la-lie |
