I am just a poor boy. 
Though my story's seldom told, 
I have squandered my resistance 
For a pocketful of mumbles, 
Such are ppromises 
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 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. 
CHORUS 
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. 
CHORUS 
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 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