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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 backseat there was a gun
Words were passed in a shotgun blast, troubled times had come

To my hometown
My hometown
My hometown
To 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

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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 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"


Transcribed / Corrected by Mark Coutinho