I am just a poor boy
|
Though my story is 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 my family
|
I was no more than a boy
|
In the company of strangers
|
In the quiet of the railway station, runnin' scared
|
|
Layin' low, seekin' out the poorer quarters
|
Where the ragged people go
|
Lookin' for the places, only they would know
|
|
Lie-la-lie
|
|
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
|
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
|
|
Lie-la-lie
|
|
And I'm layin' out my winter clothes
|
And wishin' I was gone, goin' home
|
Where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me
|
Leadin' me home, 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 leavin', I am leavin'"
|
But the fighter still remains, still remains
|
|
Lie-la-lie
|
|
-----------------
|
The Boxer
|
Deana Carter |