I am just a poor boy.
Though my story's seldom told,
I have squandered my resistance
for a pocketful of mumbles,
such are promies.
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 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.
R: Lielalei, leilalie la lielalie…
Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job, but get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores on the Seveth Avenue.
A do declare, there where times when I was so lonesome
I took some confort there.
Now the years are rolling by me
They are rocking evenly
I am older than I once was
Yonger than I'll be but that's not unusual
No it isn't strange after changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same
R: Lielalei, leilalie la lielalie
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 evry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
in his anger and his shame,
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving" but the fighter still remains.
R: Lie la la; Liela lie la la la la
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