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 come-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 ev'ry 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 |