text: I was eight years old, running with a dime in my hand
  To the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old man
  Id sit on his lap in that big old Buick, steer as we drove through town
  Hed 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 in my high school
  There was a lot of fights between black and whites, 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, a shotgun blast, troubled times had come
  To my hometown
  My hometown
  My hometown
  My hometown
  Now Main Streets whitewashed windows and vacant stores
  Seems like theres nobody wants to come down here no more
  Theyre closing down the textile mills cross the railroad tracks
  Foreman said, These jobs are going, boys, and they aint coming back
  To your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  To your hometown
  Last night, me and Kate, we laid in bed, talked about getting out
  Packing up our bags, maybe heading south
  Im 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
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown