Bruce Springsteen
Bruce Springsteen - It's hard to be a saint in the city songtekst
Over deze songtekst:
Toen Bruce Springsteen in 1972 auditie deed voor Columbia Records om voor het eerst een platencontract te kunnen krijgen, was dit het eerste nummer dat hij speelde. Zijn toenmalige manager Mike Appel stopte zelfs met zijn job om voltijds manager te worden van Bruce Springsteen, ook al had die nog geen platencontract binnen. Die zou dat blijven tot tijdens de opnames van het album Born to run. Door een juridische strijd nadien zou Springsteen na Born to run maar liefst 3 jaar niets uitbrengen en enkel componeren en live optreden.
Het nummer gaat over een jonge man die opgroeit in een stad en het moeilijk vind om goed te leven in een harde omgeving. In 1974 nam David Bowie het nummer op zonder uit te brengen. Pas in 1989 zou het op een album staan met zeldzame opnames.
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 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 strut down the street I could feel its heartbeat The sisters fell back, said, "Don't that man look pretty" The cripple on the corner cried out, "Nickels for your pity" Them gasoline boys downtown 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 beggar's bash I was the pimp's main prophet, I kept everything cool Just a backstreet gambler with the luck to lose And when the heat came down and it was left on the ground 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 out on the street And the sages of the subway sit just like the living dead As the tracks clack out the rhythm, their eyes fixed straight ahead 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 struggle to your feet And you're out of that hole, back up on the street And them south side sisters sure look pretty The cripple on the corner cries out, "Nickels for your pity" Them downtown boys, they sure talk gritty It's so hard to be a saint in the city So hard Whoa, yeah, oh Walking down some side street With your back flat jacked up against some wall