Thrice All American

I want to tell you about my hometown
It's a dusty old jewel in the South Puget Sound
Where the factories churn and the timber's all cut down
And life goes by slow in Tacoma

People, they laugh when they hear you're from my town
They say it's a sour and used up ol' place
I've defended its honor, I shrugged off the put-downs
You know that you're poor, from Tacoma

Buildings are empty like ghettos of ghost-towns
It gives me a chill to think what was inside
I can't seem to fathom the dark of my history
I invented my own in Tacoma

There was nothing to put me in love with the good life
I'm in league with the gangs, and the guns, and the crime
There was no hollow promise that life would reward you
There was nowhere to hide in Tacoma

People who built it, they loved it like I do
There was hope in the trainyards that something inspired
It once was Ionic, but it's been painted shut
I found passion for life in Tacoma

Well I don't make it home much, I sadly neglect you
But that's how you like it, away from the world
God bless California, make way for the Wal-Mart
I hope they don't find you, Tacoma