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 lots 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, then a shotgun blast
Troubled times had come

To my hometown
To my hometown
To 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 mills 'cross the railroad tracks
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 'bout 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, said "Son take a good look around

"This is your hometown
This is your hometown
This is your hometown
This is your hometown"