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 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,
Running scared,
Laying low,
Seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go,
Looking for the places
Only they would know.
CHORUSLie-la-lie.....

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.

CHORUS Lie-la-lie.....
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 ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving."
But the fighter still remains



我离家时还只是个穷孩子，
在陌生的旅途和人群中为糊口奔忙。
只有乞丐们才知道我的住所，
找不到工作我只能四处流浪，
多么孤单惆怅，又向谁人诉说？
我多想回到纽约城我的故乡。

林间空地上，站着一个拳击手，
为了生存他拚力搏击。
身上布满了累累的伤痕，
愤怒与耻辱使他高喊“我要离去”，
但他终于还是留在那里。