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City of New Orleans |
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Ridin' on the City of New Orleans |
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Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail |
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15 cars & 15 restless riders |
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Three conductors, 25 sacks of mail |
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All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of Kankakee |
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Rolls along past houses, farms & fields |
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Passin' trains that have no names, freight yards full of old black men |
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And the graveyards of rusted automobiles |
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Good mornin' America, how are you? |
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Don't you know me? I'm your native son! |
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I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans |
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I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done |
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Dealin' cards with the old men in the club car |
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Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score |
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Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle |
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And feel the wheels rumblin' neath the floor |
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And the sons of Pullman porters & the sons of engineers |
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Ride their fathers' magic carpets made of steel |
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Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat |
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And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel |
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Good mornin' America, how are you? |
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Say don't you know me? I'm your native son! |
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I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans. |
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I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done. |
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Night time on the City of New Orleans |
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Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee |
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Halfway home, we'll be there by mornin' |
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Thru the Mississippi darkness rollin' down to the sea |
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But all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream |
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And the steel rail still ain't heard the news |
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The conductor sings his songs again |
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"The passengers will please refrain: |
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This train got the disappea rin' railroad blues |
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Good night America, how are you? |
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Say don't you know me? I'm your native son! |
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I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans. |
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I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done. |
