I was eight years old
and running with a dime in my hand
Into the bus stop
to pick up a paper for my old man
I'd sit on his lap in that big old Buick
and steer as we drove through town
He'd tousle my hair and say
son take a good look around
This is your hometown
In '65 tension was running high at my high school
There was a lot of fights between the black and white,
there was nothing you could do
Two cars at a light on a Saturday night,
in the back seat there was a gun
Words were passed in a shotgun blast,
troubled times had come to my hometown
My hometown
Now Main Street's whitewashed windows
and vacant stores
Seems like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no more
They're closing down the textile mill
across the railroad tracks
Foreman says these jobs are going boys
and they ain't coming back to your hometown
Your hometown
Last night me and Kate we laid in bed
talking about getting out
Packing up our bags
maybe heading south
I'm thirty-five, we got a boy of our own now
Last night I sat him up behind the wheel and said
son take a good look around
This is your hometown