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 jests* Still a man hears what he wants to hear* And disregards the rest*la la la la 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 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 ...* 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 la lie ...* 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* Bleeding me, going home* In the clearing stands a boxer*And a fighter by his trade* And he carries the reminders* Of ev'ry glove that layed 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 remainsSo roll me further, bitch!