Songtext It’s hard to be a saint in the city Bruce Springsteen

It’s hard to be a saint in the city

Well 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
Well I walked like Brando right into the sun
And danced just like a Casanova
Well with my blackjack and jacket and hair slicked sweet
Silver Star studs on my duds like a Harley in heat
When I bop down the street I can hear its heart-beat
And all the women fell back and said ?don't that man look pretty??
The cripple on the corner cries out ?nickels for your pity?
And the gasoline boys downtown they sure talk gritty
It's so hard to be a saint in the city

Well I was the of the alley, I could talk trash
I was the prince of the paupers, crowned downtown at the beggar's bash
I was the pimp's main prophet but 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
Showing 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
The tracks clack out the rhythm, their eyes fixed straight ahead
They ride the line of balance and hold on by just a thread
It's too hot in these tunnels; you can get hit up by the heat
I get up to get out at the next stop but they push me down in the seat
My heart starts beating faster as I struggle to my feet
And I get out of that hole and I'm back up on the street
Now the Southside sisters sure look pretty
And the cripple on the corner knows I don't pay for no pity
And them gasoline boys, yeah they sure talk gritty
It's so hard to be a saint in the city