| This guy walks into a little saloon and sits down
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| He draws the eyes of all the locals of this small town
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| He looks damn normal to me
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| Bandana on his head, birks on his feet
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| He looks up and gives me a grin and says «Hey dude, you too must be from Marin»
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| Marin County’s A.O.K
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| From Tam to Stinson all the way to M. A
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| Fresh organic veggies in the market everyday
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| The Dead, Dylan, and N.W.A
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| So anyway he walks in and takes a seat in the back
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| Dreadlocks, birkenstocks, tye-dye and hackey-sack
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| He says, «Dude pretty trippy place, dude, I’m moon rays, dude»
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| His beamer must be in the shop today
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| 'Cause I saw him drive up in a Cabriolet
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| He offers me a toke off a funny looking smoke
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| And my head starts to spin, life seems like a joke
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| So we’re sitting there in this little saloon
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| Two dudes from Marin, me and the moon
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| And we’re sipping Calistogas when the juke pumps out «Carey-Anne»
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| Some guy at the bar says, «Hey who is this fairy band?»
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| I jump for his throat, make a fist with my hand
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| But moon stops the violence and says, «Peace man»
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| Marin County’s A.O.K
|
| From Tam to Stinson all the way to M. A
|
| Fresh organic veggies in the market everyday
|
| The Dead, Dylan, and N.W.A |