My Hometown

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

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 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 backseat there was a gun

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

In my hometown

In my hometown

In my hometown

In 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

To your hometown

To your hometown

To your hometown

Last night, me and Kate, we laid in bed talking 'bout 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