David Bowie

Originally recorded by
Bruce Springsteen

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 Beggars' 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, and
It's so hard to be a saint when you're just a poor 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 beatin' 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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