I'm just a poor boy, 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
Lai la lai, lai la lai, lai la lai
When I left my home and family, I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers, in the quiet of the railroad station
Running scared, laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know
Lai la lai, lai la lai, lai la lai
Lai la lai, lai la lai, lai la lai
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, la la lai, la la lai
Lai la lai, lai la lai, lai la lai
Lai la lai, lai la lai, lai la lai
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
In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him low
And cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains la lai