If I'd been born a street away, another star ascending

I'd have been a fighter, a boxer in the ring

And I salute the boxer if he lose or if he win

Not the cigar-ash, splashed fat men

Who sit around the ring.



I want water in the bottle not brandy in the glass

Bruised and battered maybe but a fighter to the last

So I salute the boxer if he lose or if he win

Not the cigar-ash splashed fat men

Who sit around the ring.



And I have watched the fighters since I was just a kid

From their struggle through the ghettos to their championship bids

And it ain't just for the money that a guy gets cut and bruised

Or to please the ringside fat men

And to keep them all amused.



Chorus



No boxer started out rich and I hate when they complain

They're calling it blood money they talk of damage to the brain

But the poor do not want charity they only want their pride

Better go down fighting than accept the back seat ride.



Chorus



I'm gonna miss Muhammed when he takes his final bow

May he go out with his fist high and ignore the screaming crowd,

Ignore the compliments of fat men who behind their cigars hid

And keep the sense of pride he gave to every ghetto kid.