Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide No escape from reality Open your eyes Look up to the skies and see I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy Because I'm easy come, easy go A little high, little low

I said hey, Sister Moonshine I said hey, Sister Moonshine, Who's a stranger to everyone. So, -MAKE US ALL LAUGH- -MAKE US ALL GIVE- Make us all cry, Ooo when I was a small boy, Well, I could see the magic in a day, But, now I'm just a poor boy,

Bring a nickel; tap your feet. Willy and the Poorboys are playin' Down on the corner, out in the street Down on the corner, out in the street, Early in the evenin' just about supper time, Over by the courthouse they're starting to unwind. Four kids on

When this war is over It will be a better day But it won't bring back Those poor boys in their graves Ain't no sense in no action Killin' people all the time When it happens on the street We call that a crime Man, he can get along

They call the Rising Sun And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy And God I know I'm one There is a house in New Orleans My mother was a tailor Sewed my new blue jeans My father was a gamblin' man Down in New Orleans Now the only thing a gambler needs

Can you believe me when I say, there's nothing I like better, Than just to sit here and talk with you. Although I'll rant and I'll rave about one thing and another The beauty of it is, hope you'll agree, though I'm a poor boy, I can still be happy, As

Bring a nickel; tap your feet. Willy and the Poorboys are playin' Down on the corner, out in the street Down on the corner, out in the street, Early in the evenin' just about supper time, Over by the courthouse they're starting to unwind. Four kids on

Heaven light a way for a fallen Let me ease the pain from my mother But he feels the deception in his head Down by the lake of Mississippi A boy was born poor and abandoned And as he walk you could hear him yearning For a home and he prays And by the

Hey, hey what can I say I grew up in the heartland USA I sing it loud and proud and I make a lotta noise I'm an all-American middle class white boy We wasn't rich but we wasn't poor Lived on a cul-de-sac 'til my parents divorced I drove a hand-me-down

They call the Rising Sun And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy And God I know I'm one There is a house in New Orleans My mother was a tailor Sewed my new blue jeans My father was a gamblin' man Down in New Orleans Now the only thing a gambler needs