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 just like a Harley in heat
When I strut down the street I could hear its heart beat
The sisters fell back and said, "Dont that man look pretty."
The cripple on the corner cried out, "Nickels for your pity."
Them gasoline boys downtown sure talk gritty
Its 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 beggars bash
I was the pimps 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 couldnt beat
I felt his hot breath on my neck as I dove into the heat
Its so hard to be a saint when youre 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 its 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 youre 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 sure talk gritty
Its so hard to be a saint in the city