Bruce Springsteen

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A  D11  A  A7  D11  A  D11  A  A7  D11

F#m                              D            E         A    D A D
I had skin like leather and the diamond hard look of a cobra
A      F#m                            D                 E    F#m
I was born blue and weathered but I burst just like a super nova
F#m      D
I could walk like Brando right into the sun
F#m                     D
Dance just like a Casa Nova
D                 E                F#m
With my blackjack jacket and hair slicked sweet
D                        E          F#m
Silver star studs on my duds like a Harley in the heat
F#m               D     E             F#m      D     E
When I strut down the street I could feel it's heart beat
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"
F#m    E             F#m
Them down town boys sure talk gritty
F#m      D            E            A7sus
It's so hard to be a saint in the city
F#m                          D              E         A     D A D
I was the king of the alley, mama, I could talk some trash
A         F#m                      D                  E     F#m
The prince of the paupers crowned downtown at the beggars bash
F#m        D
I was the pimps main prophet I kept every thing cool
F#m                         D
Just a backstreet gambler with the luck to lose
D                        E          F#m
When the heat came down and it was left on the ground
D          E                               F#m
The devil appeared like Jesus through the steam in the street
F#m         D    E               F#m   D        E
Showed me a hand I knew even the cops couldn't beat
D         E                       F#m
I felt the sideburn on my neck as I dove into the heat
F#m     D                   E                 A7sus                  A7
It's so hard to be a saint when you're just a boy out on the street
A7      A7sus                        A7
Well my sages on the subway sit just like the living dead
     D7sus                                     D7
As the track clack out their rhythm their eyes fixed straight ahead
      G7
They ride the line of balance hold on by just a thread
         C7
But it's too hot in these tunnels, you get hit up by the heat
        Dm                                   Dm/C
You get up to go out at your next stop, they push you back down in your seat
         Bb
Your heart starts beatin fast as you struggle to your feet
         Esus                 E
You're out of that hole 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 "nickles for your pity"
     D         E    F#m
Them down town boys sure talk gritty
        D            E     Asus         A
It's so hard to be a saint in the city  ...