| 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 |