It's Hard to Be a Saint in the City

It's Hard to Be a Saint in the City - Bruce Springsteen

I had skin like leather

And the diamond-hard look of a cobra

I was born blue and weathered

But I burst just like a supernova

I could walk like Brando right into the sun

Then dance just like a Casanova

With my blackjack and jacket

And hair slicked sweet

Silver star studs on my duds

Like a Harley in heat

When I strut down the street

I could feel it's heartbeat

The sisters fell back

And said "Don't that man look pretty"

The cripple on the corner cried out

"Nickels for your pity"

Them gasoline boys downtown sure talk gritty

It's so hard to be a saint in the city

I was the king if the alley

Mama I could talk some trash

I was the prince of the paupers crowned downtown

At the beggar's bash

I was the pimp's main prophet

I kept everything cool

Just a backstreet gambler with the luck to lose

And when the heat came down

It was left on the ground

The devil appeared like

Jesus through the steam in the street

Showin' me a hand I knew

Even the cops couldn't beat

I felt his hot breath on my neck

As I dove into the heat

It's so hard to be a saint

When you're just a boy out on the street

And the sages of the subway sit

Just like the living dead

As the tracks clack out the rhythm

Their eyes fixed straightahead

They ride the line of balance

And hold on by just a thread

But it's too hot in these tunnels

You can get hit up by the heat

You get up to get out

At your next stop but they push you

Back down in your seat

Your heart starts beatin' faster

As you struggle to your feet

You're outa that hole

And back up on the street

And them South Side sisters sure look pretty

The cripple on the corner cries out

"Nickels for your pity"

And them downtown boys they sure talk gritty

It's so hard to be a saint in the city