Thrice All American

I want to tell you about my hometown

It's a dusty old jewel in the South Puget Sound

Where the factories churn and the timber's all cut down

And life goes by slow in Tacoma

People, they laugh when they hear you're from my town

They say it's a sour and used-up ol' place

I've defended its honor, I shrugged off the put-downs

You know that you're poor from Tacoma

Buildings are empty like ghettos of ghost towns

It gives me a chill to think what was inside

I can't seem to fathom the dark of my history

I invented my own in Tacoma

There was nothing to put me in love with the good life

I'm in league with the gangs and the guns and the crime

There was no hollow promise that life would reward you

There was nowhere to hide in Tacoma

The people who built it, they loved it like I do

There was hope in the trainyards that something inspired

It once was Ionic, but it's been painted shut

I found passion for life in Tacoma

Well I don't make it home much, I sadly neglect you

But that's how you like it, away from the world

God bless California, make way for the Wal-Mart

I hope they don't find you, Tacoma