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 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
lalala
lalalalalalala
lalala
lalala lalala lalala lalala
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
wishing I was honme going home
where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
leading me into going home
lalalalalala
lalalala
lalalalalalalala
in the clearing stands a boxer
and a fighter by his trade
and he carries the reminders
of every glove that layer 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
lalala
lalalalalalala...

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