They say that Richard Cory owns one half
of this whole town,
With political connections to spread
his wealth around.
Born into society, a banker's only child,
He had everything a man could want:
power, grace and style.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

The papers print his picture almost
everywhere he goes:
Richard Cory at the opera, Richard Cory
at a show.
Oh, he surely must be happy with
everything he's got.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

He freely gave to charity, he had
the common touch,
And they were grateful for his patronage and
thanked him very much,
So my mind was filled with wonder when the
evening headlines read:
“Richard Cory went home last night and
put a bullet through his head.”

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.