| I am just a poor boy though my story’s seldom told
|
| I have 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
|
| 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 station, running scared
|
| Laying low seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go
|
| Looking for the places only they would know
|
| La la li
|
| La la la la li la li
|
| La la li
|
| La la la la la la li la la la li
|
| Asking only workman’s wages I come looking for a job
|
| But I get no offers
|
| Just a come-on from some bitch
|
| On Seventh Avenue
|
| I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome
|
| I took some comfort there, la la la la la la
|
| (repeat chorus)
|
| And 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 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
|
| La la la la la la la la la li
|
| (repeat chorus twice)
|
| Yeay! |
| Yeay! |
| Yeay! |
| Ow! |