|
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. |
|
Mmm....... |
|
Mmm....... |
|
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. |
|
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. |
|
Lie-la-lie..... |
|
Lie-la-lie..... |
|
Lie-la-lie..... |
|
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. |
|
Mmm............ |
|
Lie-la-lie..............Lie-la-lie |
|
Lie-la-lie..............Lie-la-lie |
|
Lie-la-lie..............Lie-la-lie |
|
Lie-la-lie..............Lie-la-lie |
