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
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 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 back seat there was a gun
Words were passed and a shotgun blast
Troubled times had come
To my hometown, in my hometown
In my hometown, 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, your hometown
To your hometown, your hometown

Last night me and kate
We laid in bed
Talking 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