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.      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      CHORUS