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Since the day I first saw light
I was so tough and hard up for the fight
I learnt the hard way as my rule
The school of hard knocks made me no-ones fool
But whats a poor boy to do

Up in the morning before the sun
My workin for the man a life with no fun
The sweat on my back and dirt on my brow
Living each day behind the plough
But whats a poor boy to do

I was always my father’s son 
Working each day ‘til the work is done
There was never a time just for me
All I wanted was life as free as can be
But what’s a poor boy to do

I vowed to myself I would not be
A dirt poor farmer working the land not free
I ran away from home at my first chance
Away from the struggle and the daily farmer’s dance
But whats a poor boy to do

I ran with a crowd that was just like me
Robbin and killin on a lawless spree
Until one day in a border town the sheriff won
And our bank robbin and murder was done 
But whats a poor boy to do

The judge had a reputation so proud
Hanging was my sentence the judge unbowed
So here I am standing with a noose around my neck
My last day has come so what the heck
But what’s a poor boy to do.

© Paul Warren Poetry

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