(Paul Simon) I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told I have squandered my existence On a pocket full of mumbles such are promises All lies in jest, till a man hears what he wants to hear And disregards the rest Well I left my home and family I was no more than a boy In the company of strangers In the quiet of the railway station runnin' scared Layin' low seeking out the poor quarters Where the ragged people go, looking for the places Only they would know Li Li Li [etc.] Only seeking 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 In a-laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was home Going home Where the New York City winters aren't a-bleding me Bleeding me Going home Da Da Da [etc.] In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of every bloke that laid him down or cleft him Till he cried out in his anger and his shame I am leaving, I am leaving But the fighter still remains Li Li Li [etc.]
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