Irons In the Fire

People say I've got my hands in too many things

Keeping time with paupers just as well as kings

I toss my hat up to the silver sky

And then I sigh, look at all the blessings in my life

Here I am your Piscean holocaust

Born in Venice Harlem in some sweet but sour sauce

I close my eyes and still somehow I see

You're here with me and you are such a blessing in my life

Here I am, I'm just a  fragment of my God

Heavenly Father, hear me

Sometimes life gets so hard with you as my desire

Spirit's gonna lift me higher

Got to keep my irons in the fire

I've got to keep my irons in the fire

I've got to keep my irons in the fire

I've got to keep my irons in the fire