David Bowie – Its Hard To Be A Saint In The City (Guitar)

      F#m                       D            E         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 super-nova

        D                                        F#m                   D
I could walk like Brando right into the sun, an' dance just like a Casanova

         D              E           F#m
With my black-jack and jacket and my hair slicked sweet

        D          E                F#m
Silver studs on my duds just like a Harley in heat

        D               E           D             E
When I strut down the street I can 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 "Penny, nickels for your pity"

D             E                  F#m
Them gasoline boys down-town, they sure talk gritty

      D              E     A           D/A   A   D/A
It's so hard to be a saint in the city

  F#m                             D         E          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 down-town at the Beggars' Bash

       D
I was a pimp's main prophet, I kept everything cool

      F#m                             D
Just a back-street gambler with the luck to lose

             D          E         D             E
And when the heat came down it was left on the ground, mama

D        E               F#m
Devil appeared to me like Jesus through the steam in the street, an'

D            E            F#m
Showed me a hand that even the cops couldn't beat

      D             E                   F#m
And I felt his hot breath on my neck as I dove into the heat, and

D       E                              A
It's so hard to be a saint when you're just a poor boy out on the street

         A4           A              A4              A
And the sages of the subway sit just like the living dead

             D
As the tracks clack out the rhythm, the eyes fixed straight ahead

     G4                G              G4             G
They ride the line of balancin', hold on by just a thread

            C
Well, it's too hot in these tunnels, you can get hit up by the heat

             Dm                                   F                  F/C
When you get up to get out at your next stop, but they push you right down in your seat

          A#
And your heart starts beatin' faster as you struggle to your feet

            E
Then you're out of that hole!, back on the street

          D          E            F#m
And them south-side sisters, they sure look pretty

       D                E             F#m
And the cripple on the corner cries out "Nickels for your pity"

        D          E         F#m
And them down-town boys, they sure talk gritty

       D              E          A     D/A   A   D/A
It's so hard to be a saint in the city

| D | E | F#m | F#m |
(repeat and fade out)