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 too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real? The winter evening settles down 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 ringing of a twitching hand Six o'clock, six o'clock Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? 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 climb, I'm about to make a lot of money Goes around and around and around Oh yeah, boya Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya? Is it too real for ya?