I am just a poor boy though my story’s seldom told

Such a good fricking song. Simon and Garfunkel remain the pinnacle of rock-and-roll-era songwriting. No one else even comes close.

You left out my favorite line.

For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

I like potato
Wanna mash my potato
Won't you mash your potato with me
I like potatoes
Wanna mash your potatoes
Will you mash my potatoes for me
I like potatoes
Gonna mash up potatoes
If you don't like my masher then I'll see ya later
I like potatoes
Won't you mash your potatoes with me

I like potato
Wanna mash my potatoes
Won't you mash your potatoes with me
I like potatoes
Wanna mash your potatoes
Will you mash my potatoes for me
I like potatoes
Gonna mash up potatoes
If you don't like my masher then I'll see ya later
I like potatoes
Won't you mash your potatoes with me

M-A-S-H-P-O-T-A-T-O

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains, mmm mmm

Best part - greatest collection of words in a song IMO.

Imagine having Art Garfunkel as your math teacher right after Simon & Garfunkel broke up.

quote:

---

He even took a job as a math teacher at one point, in the Seventies, despite being a world famous pop star.

“I’d just got married and moved to Connecticut, and there was a nearby preparatory school and so I taught math there. It was a weird stage of my life, to leave Simon & Garfunkel at the height of our success and become a math teacher. I would talk them through a math problem and ask if anyone had any questions and they would say: “What were the Beatles like?”

---

I'm a poor boy born in the rubble
And some say my manners ain't the best
And some of my friends, yeah, they've been in real trouble
And some say I'm no better than the rest
But tell your mama and your papa
Sometimes good guys don't wear white

Every day baby, I work hard
And it's true at night, I spend a restless time
But those rich kids and all that lazy money
Can't hold a candle to mine
So tell your mama and your papa
Sometimes good guys don't wear white

Good guys bad guys which is which
The white collar worker or the digger in the ditch
Hey, who's to say who's the better man
When I've always done the best I can

How bad was his dirty mind
All those messed up chicks or the changin' times
White pills and easy livin'
Can't replace the love I've given
So tell your mama and your papa
Sometimes good guys don't wear white

Ha, I mean to tell ya
You better tell your mama and your papa somethin'
I'll split off by myself with another chick yeah, Ah just a kick
You think those guys in the white collars are better than I am baby
Then flake off
You don't dig this long hair, get yourself a crew-cut baby
Yeah
I mean what I said