I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told, I have squandered my resistance

For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises

All lies and jest, still a 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 a railway station, running scared

Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters Where the ragged people go

Looking for the places only they would know

Lie la lie Lie la lie Lie la lie Lie 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

Lie lie lie lie la

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 a reminder ov ev'ry glove that laid 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