Have you been down to Tin Town, where dreams in cans once were drowned. A snag somewhere in someone's life caught him there, pulled him to strife. A bottle here, and there are left. Many broken, the air is deaf. With non-understanding vows, remember tears upon their brows. In Tin Town, has-been town. Tin Town, has-been town. A tiny flag upon a mast, where camptown children played in past. A river winding through the trees. Banks eroded, extreme degrees. Once a place to be baptized, when pentecostal need arise. A shank or two with rotted plank. A fish or two, their eyes are blank. In Tin Town, has-been town. Tin Town, has-been town. Well I been down to Tin Town, where once a boy I did fall down. And cut my arm on piled up junk. I wrapped it up and I hailed a drunk. He carried me three miles to home, where daddy said I was cut to the bone. The doctor washed his hands and said, "Five more minutes, the boy'd been dead." Down where people lose their heads. In Tin Town, has-been town. Tin Town, has-been town. I know you well. Well I live here in Tin Town. Not many people come around. When when they do I smile at them. And say, "Hello, it's a mighty hot day. Can you spare a man a dime? I got thirty cents and I can buy some wine. I'm livin' in my childhood schemes. Please, mister, you can make my dreams (you can make my dreams!)." In Tin Town, has-been town. Tin Town, has-been town. It's my home. It's my home. It's my home. It's my home.