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None can pull the passion loose from youth's ungrateful hands
As it stands
I'm about to make a lot of money
Gold harps in the pan
None can revolution lead with selfish needs aside
As I cried
I'm about to make a lot of money
Gold harps on the side
Is it roo real for ya?
Is it too real?
The winter evening settles now
The bruised and beat-up open sky
Six o' clock
The city in its final dress
And now a gusty shower wraps the grimy scraps
Of withered leaves all about your feet
And then the wringing of a twitching hand
Six o' clock
Six o' clock
Is it too real for ya?
Is it too real?
None can pull the passion loose from youth's ungrateful hands
As it stands
I'm about to make a lot of money
Gold harps in the pan
None can revolution lead with selfish needs aside
As I cried
I'm about to make a lot of money
Goes around and around and around
Oh ye boya
Is it too real for ya?
