Well, I am just a poor boy Though my story seldom told I have squandered my resistance For a pocket full of mumbles such as promises All lies in jest still the 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 stations running scared Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters Where the ragged people go Looking for the places only they would know Lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie, Lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-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 7th avenue I do declare There were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there And I'm laying out my winter clothes And wishing I was home, going home Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me Leading me, going home Lie-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie-lie In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of every glove that laid him down And cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame I am leaving, I am leaving But the fighter still remains Oh, lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie, Lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie, Lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie Lie-lie-lie, Lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie