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Out in the alleys of Austin |
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There's a song on the side of the wall |
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The bricks and the bottles and the mongrels |
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Are trying to make sense out of it all |
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And the moon looks all too familiar |
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The kids say "There ain't no man in there"; |
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While the laid back baboon |
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By the light of the Texas moon |
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Is combing his auburn hair |
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He's just combing his auburn hair |
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Now out in the alleys of Heaven |
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There's a funky feeling angel strumming chords |
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While the preachers sit and get stoned in their Buicks |
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Jesus Christ rolls by in his Ford |
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And the clouds are like the feathers of sparrows |
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A thousand different colors of grey |
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It's the hustle of the paradise bar room |
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And the glory of hanging out in space |
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It's the glory of hanging out in space |
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In the alleys of Austin and Heaven |
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The song they're playing is the same |
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The jam sessions sound like the gutters |
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As the muddy licks and sticks roll down the drain |
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And the drainpipe she rolls out to the river |
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And the Pedernales flows out to the sea |
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And the sea waters rise up to Heaven |
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And rain down on the alleys of Austin |
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And you |
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And me |
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