My Hometown

I was eight years old, running with a dime in my hand

To the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old man

I'd sit on his lap in that big old Buick, steer as we drove through town

He'd tousle my hair and say, "Son, take a good look around

This is your hometown"

This is your hometown

This is your hometown

This is your hometown

In '65, tension was running high in my high school

There was a lot of fights between black and whites, there was nothing you could do

Two cars at a light on a Saturday night, in the backseat there was a gun

Words were passed, a shotgun blast, troubled times had come

To my hometown

My hometown

My hometown

My hometown

Now Main Street's whitewashed windows and vacant stores

Seems like there's nobody wants to come down here no more

They're closing down the textile mills 'cross the railroad tracks

Foreman said, "These jobs are going, boys, and they ain't coming back

To your hometown"

Your hometown

Your hometown

To your hometown

Last night, me and Kate, we laid in bed, talked 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"

Your hometown

Your hometown

Your hometown

Your hometown

Your hometown

Your hometown

Your hometown