It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City

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 super-nova

I could walk like Brando right into the sun, an' dance just like

a Casanova

With my black-jack and jacket and my hair slicked sweet

Silver studs on my duds just like a Harley in heat

When I strut down the street I can hear its' heartbeat

The sisters fell back and said "Don't that man look

pretty"

The cripple on the corner cried out "Penny, nickels for

your pity"

Them gasoline boys down-town, they 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 down-town at the

Beggars' Bash

I was a pimps main prophet, I kept everything cool

Just a back-street gambler with the luck to lo..ose

And when the heat came down it was left on the ground, mama

Devil appeared to me like Jesus through the steam in the street,

an'

Showed me a hand that even the cops couldn't beat

And I felt his hot breath on my neck as I dove into the heat,

and It's so hard to be a saint when you're just a poor bo..oy

out on the street

And the sages of the subway sit just like the living dead

As the tracks clack out the rhythm, the eyes fixed straight

ahead

They ride the line of balancin', hold on by just a thread

Well, it's too hot in these tunnels, you can get hit up by the

heat

When you get up to get out at your next stop, but they push you

right down in your seat

And your heart starts beatin' faster as you struggle to your

feet

Then you're out of that hole!, back on the street

And them south-side sisters, they sure look pretty

And the cripple on the corner cries out "Nickels for your

pity"

And them down-town boys, they sure talk gritty