I am just a poor boy 

Though my story is 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 Mm mm.... 

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 

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 Ooo-la-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 the reminders 
Of every 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​ 


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