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, hmmm

When I left my home and my family, I's no more than a boy
In [bad word] of strangers
In the quiet of the railway [bad word]  scared, laying low,
Seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go,
Looking for the places only they would know.

Li la li

Asking only workman's wages, [bad word] lookin' for a job,
But I get no offers,
Just [bad word] on from the whores on 7th Avenue.
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took [bad word] there.

La la la
Li la li

And I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,
Goin' home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me, leadin' me,
Goin' 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, but the fighter still remains.

Li la li