Bruce Springsteen - It's Hard to Be a Saint in the City lyrics
[Bruce Springsteen - It's Hard to Be a Saint in the City lyrics]
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 of 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 straight ahead
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
Then 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
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 of 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 straight ahead
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
Then 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