My Hometown

I was eight years old and runnin' 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 home town

Your home town

This is your home town

This is your home town"

In '65, tension was runnin' high at my high school

There was lots of fights between blacks and whites

There was nothin' you could do

Two cars at a light on a Saturday night

In the back seat there was a gun

Words were passed in a shotgun blast

And troubled times had come

To my home town

My home town

My home town

My home town

Now Main Street's whitewashed windows and vacant stores

Seem like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no more

They're closin' down the textile mill 'cross the railroad tracks

The foreman says, "These jobs are goin', boys

And they ain't comin' back

To your home town

Your home town

Your home town

Your home town"

Last night me and Kate laid in bed

Talkin' 'bout gettin' out

Packin' up our bags and maybe headin' south

I'm thirty-five, we got a Ford of our own now

Last night I said and looked behind the wheel and said

"Son, take a good look around

This is your home town"