Votre estimation:

Estimation moyenne:

I was eight years old and running with a dime in my hand
into the busstop
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 hometownIn '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 hometownNow 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 hometown
Your hometown
Your hometown
Your hometownLast night me and Kate we laid in bed talking about getting out
Packing up our bags maybe heading south
I'm 35, 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