Letra de Poor Boy - The Paul Butterfield Blues Band

Well I'm a poor boy, long way from home.
Well I'm a poor boy, long way
from home.
No spending money in my pocket, no spare meat on my bone.

Now, people ask me, "what does a poor boy do?"
Now, people ask
me, "what does a poor boy do?"
Poor boy sews patches on his clothes,
Stuffs newspaper in his shoes.
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I'm goin' back to Chicago, man,
that's where I'm from.
I'm goin' back to Chicago, man, that's where I'm
from.
I got so many friends in Chicago,
Place just can't do me no
harm.