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 family I was no more than a boy

In the company of strangers

In the quiet of a 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 workmans wages I come looking for a job

But I get no offers

Just a co me-on from the whores on seventh avenue

I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there

Ooo-la-la la la la la

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

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 every 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

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