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
La-la-la

When I left my home and family
I was no more than a boy
In [bad word] of strangers
In the quiet of the railroad station [bad word] scared
Laying low
Seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

La-la-la

Asking only workman's wages
 [bad word] looking for a job
But I get no offers
Just [bad word] on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took [bad word] there
Oh 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 aren't bleeding me
Leading me
Going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminder
Of every glove that's laid him low
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains
La-la-la

La-la-la