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 and 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 Beggar's Bash I was a pimp's main prophet, I kept everything cool Just a back-street gambler with the luck to lose 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, and 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 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, the eyes fixed straight ahead They ride the line of balancing, 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 beating 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 It's so hard to be a saint in the city
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