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, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
Mhm

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

Ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la
Ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la, la-la-ly-la-ly

Asking only workman's wages
I go 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
Ly-ly-ly-ly-ly-ly-ly

Ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la
Ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la, la-la-ly-la-ly

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
Wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters are not 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"
Though the fighter still remains
Still remains

Ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la
Ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la, la-la-ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la
Ly-la-ly
Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la, la-la-ly-la-ly