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
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