(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.]