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
And 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"
Your hometown
This is your hometown
Your hometown
In '65, tension was running high at my high school
There were 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 pa**ed, a shotgun blast, troubled times had come
To my hometown
To my hometown
My hometown
My hometown
Now Main Street's whitewashed windows and vacant stores
Seems like there ain't anybody wants to come down here no more
They're shutting down the textile mill 'cross the railroad tracks
Foreman says, "These jobs are going, boys, and they ain't coming back
To your hometown"
Last night me and Kate, we laid in bed, talking about getting out
And packing up our bags, and maybe heading on down south
I'm thirty-five, and I got a boy of my 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