Mumford & Sons - The boxer

^CI am just a poor boy. Though my story's se^G/Bldom t^Amold, I have ^G/Bsquandered my resistance For a ^Fpocketful of mumbles, Such are ^Cpromises All ^G/Blies and ^Amjest Still, a ^G/Bman hears what he wants ^Fto hear And disregards the ^Crest.

^CWhen I left my home And my family, I was no more ^G/Bthan a ^Amboy In the ^G/Bcompany of strangers In the ^Fquiet of the railway station, ^CRunning scared, ^G/BLaying ^Amlow, Seeking out ^Gthe poorer ^Fquarters Where the ragged people ^Cgo, Looking ^G/Bfor the places ^FOnly they would ^Cknow.

Lie-la-^Amlie.^G.. ^{Am F G C C}Asking only workman's wages I come looking ^Emfor a ^Amjob, But I get no ^Goffers, Just a ^Fcome-on from the whores On Seventh A^Cvenue I ^Emdo declare^Am, There were ^G/Btimes when I was so ^Flonesome I took some comfort ^Cthere.

^CThen I'm laying out my winter clothes And wishing ^EmI was ^Amgone, ^GGoing home Where the ^FNew York City winters Aren't ble^Ceding me, ^EmBleeding ^Amme, Going ^Ghome.

^CLa la la ^Emla ^Amla ^Gla ^CLa la la ^Emla ^Amla ^Gla ^Fla la la ^Cla

^CIn the clearing stands a boxer, And a fighter by his trade And he ^G/Bcarries the reminders Of ^Fev'ry glove that laid him down And ^Ccut him till he cried out In his anger ^Emand his ^Amshame, "I am ^Gleaving, I am ^Fleaving." But the ^Cfighter still remains

^AmLie-^Gla-^Amlie.^F.. ^{G C} x 3