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
I'd sit on his lap in that big old Buick, steer as we drove through town
He'd 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 Street's whitewashed windows and vacant stores
Seems like there's nobody wants to come down here no more
They're closing down the textile mills 'cross the railroad tracks
Foreman said, "These jobs are going, boys, and they ain't 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
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
Your hometown
Your hometown
Your hometown
Your hometown
Your hometown
Your hometown