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Well 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 just 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 a railway station, runnin' scared Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters Where the ragged people go Lookin' for the places, only they would know Asking only workman's 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 Then I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone Going home, where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me Leadin' me, to 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 "Well I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains, it still remains