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 
Like a Harley in heat.
When I [bad word] down the street 
I could feel its heartbeat.

The sisters fell back 
And said "Don't that man look pretty",
The cripple on the corner 
Cried out "Nickels for your pity".
And gasoline boys downtown
Sure talk gritty.
It's so hard to be a saint in the city!

I was the king if the alley,
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 everythning cool,
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 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!

And the sages of the subway
Sit just like the living dead
As the tracks clack out 
The rhythm their eyes fixed straightahead.
They ride the line of balance 
And hold on by just a thread
But it's 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 [bad word] to your feet,
Then you're 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.
It's so hard to be a saint in the city!