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 hometown your hometown this is your hometown this is your hometown in 65 tension was running high at my high school there was lots of fights tween blacks and whites 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 and troubled times had come to my hometown my hometown my hometown to my hometown now main street s whitewashed 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 track foreman says these jobs are going boys and they ain t coming back to your hometown your hometown your hometown your hometown  last night me and kate laid in bed talking about getting out packing up our bags and 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 