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.
And the rumor of his parties
and the orgies on his yacht!
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.