March
Friday 4 July 2008 photo 1/1
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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 This is your hometown This is your hometown This is 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 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 tracks 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 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 hometown
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