I am just a poor boy though my storys seldom told Ive 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 my family I was no more than a boy In the company of strangers In the quiet of the railway station, runnin 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-la-la-lie La-la-lie-la-lie Asking only workmans wages I come lookin 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 Lie-la-lie Lie-la-lie-la-la-la-lie La-la-lie-la-lie And Im laying out my winter clothes And wishing I was gone, goin home Where the New York City winters arent 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 Lie-la-lie Lie-la-lie-la-la-la-lie La-la-lie-la-lie
Posted on: Sun, 21 Dec 2014 14:13:32 +0000
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