They say that Richard Corey owns his own 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.

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 Corey.

The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes,
Richard Corey's at the opera,
Richard Corey at a show,
And the rumours of his parties, and the orgies on his lot,
Well, 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 Corey.

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

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 Corey.