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 home town
This is your home town
This is your home town
This is your home town
In sixty five 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 home town
My home town
My home town
My home town
Now Main Street's
white washed windows
and vacant stores
Seems like there
ain't nobody
wants to come down
here no more
They're closing down
the textile mill
across the railroad tracks
Foreman says these jobs
are going boys
and they ain't coming back
to your home town
To your home town
Your home town
Your home town
Last night me and Kate
we laid in bed
Talking about 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
and said son
take a good look around
this is your home town
