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
  Hed tousle my hair and say son take a good look around
  This is your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  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 back seat there was a gun
  Words were passed in 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 there aint nobody wants to come down here no more
  Theyre closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks
  Foreman says these jobs are going boys and they aint coming back to
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  Your hometown
  Last night me and Kate we laid in bed talking 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