I am just a poor boy and my storys seldom told
Ive squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jest, still the man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest, hmmmm

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 station, runnin scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

Li la li...

Asking only workmans wages, I come lookin for a job, but I get no offers
Just a comeon from the w____s on 7th avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

Li la li...

And Im laying out my winter clothes, wishing I was home, goin home
Where the new york city winters arent bleedin me, leadin me to go home

In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him
til he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains
Yes he still remains

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