text: 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
  Id 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
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  In 65 tension was running high at my high school
  There was a lot of fights tween 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
  Yeah to my hometown
  To my hometown
  Now Main Street’s whitewashed windows and vacant stores
  Seems like there aint nobody wants to come down here no more
  Theyre closing down the rug mill across the railroad tracks
  Foreman says These jobs are going, boys
  And they aint coming back
  To your hometown
  To your hometown
  To your hometown
  Last night me and Kate, we laid in bed
  Talkin bout gettin out
  Packin 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
  Your hometown
  This is your hometown