I was eight years old and running with a dime in my handInto the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old manI'd sit on his lap in that big old Buick, steer as we drove through townTousle my hair, say, "Son, take a good look around"This is your hometown
This is your hometownThis is your hometownThis is your hometown
In '65 tension was running high at my high schoolWas a lot of fights 'tween the black and white, there was nothing you could doTwo cars at a light on a Saturday night, in the backseat there was a gunWords were passed, shotgun blast, troubled times had comeTo my hometown
To my hometownTo my hometownTo my hometown
Now Main Street's whitewashed windows and vacant storesSeems like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no moreThey're closing down the textile mill 'cross the railroad tracksForeman says, "These jobs are going, boys, and they ain't coming back"To your hometown
Your hometownTo your hometownTo your hometown
Last night me and Kate, we laid in bed talking 'bout getting outPacking up our bags, maybe heading southI'm 35, we got a boy of our own nowLast night I sat him up behind the wheel and said "Son, take a good look around"
This is your hometown