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 in jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and
Dis-regards the rest, ummmm
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, lie la lie la lie la lie, lie la lie,
Lie la lie la la la la lie la la la la lie.
Asking only workman’s wages, I come looking for a job
But I get no of-fers, just a come-on from the whores on 7th Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there__ Ooo-la – la__ la__la la la__
Then I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone
Going home, where the New York City winters are-n’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 every glove that’s 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
Lie-la lie,
Lie-la lie-la lie-la lie lie-la-lie
Lie-la lie la la la la – lie.
Lie-la lie-la lie-la lie lie-la-lie
Lie-la lie la la la la – lie.