Tom:
Intro:  A7-3  A7sus4+6  A7  A7sus4+6 

        A7-3  A7sus4+6  A7  A7sus4+6 

        A  D/A  A  D/A 

        A  D/A  A  D/A

      F#m                       D            E         A    D/A  A
I had skin like leather and the diamond-hard look of a cobra
      F#m                           D                 E    F#m
I was born blue and weathered but I burst just like a supernova
        D
I could walk like Brando right into the sun
     F#m                   D
Then dance just like a Casanova
                      E          F#m
With my blackjack and jacket and hair slicked sweet
D                 E                 F#m
Silver star studs on my duds like a Harley in heat
       D     E        F#m            D        E    F#m
When I strut down the street I could hear its heartbeat
    D            E                        F#m
The sisters fell back and said don't that man look pretty
    D              E                F#m
The cripple on the corner cried out nickels for your pity
     D        E             F#m
Them gasoline boys downtown sure talk gritty
        D            E            A7sus4  A7  A7sus4  A7
It's so hard to be a saint in the city
          F#m                      D       E         A    D/A  A
I was the king of the alley, mama, I could talk some trash
          F#m                           D               E        F#m
I was the prince of the paupers crowned downtown at the beggar's bash
          D
I was the pimp's main prophet I kept everything cool
       F#m                         D
Just a backstreet gambler with the luck to lose
                  E    F#m         D    E      F#m
And when the heat came down it was left on the ground
    D                   E                 F#m
The devil appeared like Jesus through the steam in the street
D            E                    F#m
Showin' me a hand I knew even the cops couldn't beat
  D                   E               F#m
I felt his hot breath on my neck as I dove into the heat
        D            E                        A7sus4         A7    A7sus4  A7
It's so hard to be a saint when you're just a boy out on the street
        A7sus4                       A7
And the sages of the subway sit just like the living dead
       D7sus4                            D7
As the tracks clack out the rhythm their eyes fixed straight ahead
     Gsus4                             G
They ride the line of balance and hold on by just a thread
             Csus4                                C
But it's too hot in these tunnels you can get hit up by the heat
        Dm                                       Dm/C
You get up to get out at your next stop but they push you back down in your seat
     Bb
Your heart starts beatin' faster as you struggle to your feet
            Esus4                       E
Then you're outta that hole and back up on the street
         D          E                 F#m
And them South Side sisters sure look pretty
    D              E                F#m
The cripple on the corner cries out nickels for your pity
         D        E              F#m
And them downtown boys sure talk gritty
        D            E            A7sus4  A7  A7sus4  A7
It's so hard to be a saint in the city

OUTRO:
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