It's Hard to Be a Saint in the City (Live at Paramount Theatre, Asbury Park, NJ - 11/26/1996)

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

And dance 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 its heartbeat

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

Cripple on the corner cried out, "Nickels for your pity"

Them downtown boys sure talk gritty

Well, 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

Yeah, just a backstreet gambler with the luck to lose

And when the heat came down and 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 hard breath on my neck as I dove in the heat

It's hard to be a saint when you're just a boy

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, hold on by just a thread

It's too hot in these tunnels, you get hit up by the heat

You get up to get out at your next stop, they push you back down in your seat

Your heart starts beatin' faster as you struggle to your feet

Well, then you're out of that hole and back up on the street

Them south side sisters sure look pretty

The cripple on the corner cries out, "Nickels for your pity"

Them downtown boys sure talk gritty

And it's hard to be a saint in the city

So hard, say