I'm a town in Carolina, I'm a detour on a ride For a phone call and a soda, I'm a blur from the driver's side I'm the last gas for an hour if you're going twenty-five I am Texaco and tobacco, I am dust you leave behind
I am peaches in September, and corn from a roadside stall I'm the language of the natives, I'm a cadence and a drawl I'm the pines behind the graveyard, and the cool beneath their shade Where the boys have left their beer cans I am weeds between the graves.
My porches sag and lean with old black men and children My sleep is filled with dreams, I never can fulfill them I am a town.
I am a church beside the highway where the ditches never drain I'm a Baptist like my daddy, and Jesus knows my name I am memory and stillness, I am lonely in old age I am not your destination, I am clinging to my ways I am a town.
I'm a town in Carolina, I am billboards in the fields I'm an old truck up on cinder blocks, missing all my wheels I am Pabst Blue Ribbon, American, and "Southern Serves the South" I am tucked behind a Jaycees sign, on the rural route I am a town I am a town I am a town Southbound.