The Boxer

       I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told 
       I have squandered my resistance 
       For a pocket full of mumbles such a promises 
       All lies and jest 'till a man heres what he wants to here 
       And disregards the rest, mm mm mm...... 

       When I left my home and my family 
       I was no more than a boy in the company of strangers 
       In the quiet down the railway station running scared 
       Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters 
       Where the ragged people go 
       Looking for the places only they would know 

       La la la la la la la la la la la la la 
       La la la la la la la la la la la la la 

       Asking only workman's 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 

       Then I'm laying out my winter clothes 
       And wishing I was gone, going home 
       Where the New York City winters ain't bleeding me, 
       Bleeding me going home 

       In the clearing stands the boxer and a fighter by his trade 
       And he carries the reminders 
       Of ev'ry glove that laid him down 
       And cut him till he cried out 
       In his anger and his shame 
       "I am leaving, I am leaving" 
       But the fighter still remains, mm mm mm mm

La lie la la la la la la la la la la la la