It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City 歌词

歌曲	It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City
歌手	David Bowie
专辑	Platinum Collection
下载	Image LRC TXT

	Lyrics：Bruce Springsteen Music：Bruce Springsteen
	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 super-nova
	I could walk like Brando into the sun, and dance just like a Casanova
	With my black-jack and jacket and my hair slicked sweet
	Silver studs on my duds just like a Harley in heat
	When I strut down the street I can hear its heartbeat
	The sisters fell back and said 'Don't that man look pretty'
	The cripple on the corner cried out 'Penny, nickels for your pity'
	Them gasoline boys down-town, they sure talk gritty
	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 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

	Lyrics: Bruce Springsteen Music: Bruce Springsteen
	I had skin like leather and the diamondhard look of a cobra
	I was born blue and weathered but I burst just like a supernova
	I could walk like Brando into the sun, and dance just like a Casanova
	With my blackjack and jacket and my hair slicked sweet
	Silver studs on my duds just like a Harley in heat
	When I strut down the street I can hear its heartbeat
	The sisters fell back and said ' Don' t that man look pretty'
	The cripple on the corner cried out ' Penny, nickels for your pity'
	Them gasoline boys downtown, they sure talk gritty
	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 Beggars' Bash
	I was a pimp' s main prophet, I kept everything cool
	Just a backstreet 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 southside sisters, they sure look pretty
	And the cripple on the corner cries out ' Nickels for your pity'
	And them downtown boys, they sure talk gritty
	It' s so hard to be a saint in the city

	Lyrics: Bruce Springsteen Music: Bruce Springsteen
	I had skin like leather and the diamondhard look of a cobra
	I was born blue and weathered but I burst just like a supernova
	I could walk like Brando into the sun, and dance just like a Casanova
	With my blackjack and jacket and my hair slicked sweet
	Silver studs on my duds just like a Harley in heat
	When I strut down the street I can hear its heartbeat
	The sisters fell back and said ' Don' t that man look pretty'
	The cripple on the corner cried out ' Penny, nickels for your pity'
	Them gasoline boys downtown, they sure talk gritty
	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 Beggars' Bash
	I was a pimp' s main prophet, I kept everything cool
	Just a backstreet 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 southside sisters, they sure look pretty
	And the cripple on the corner cries out ' Nickels for your pity'
	And them downtown boys, they sure talk gritty
	It' s so hard to be a saint in the city

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