The City of New Orleans
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail;
Fourteen cars and fourteen restless riders
Three conductors, twenty five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey, the train rolls out of Kankakee
Ridin' past the houses, farms and fields
Pa**in' trains that have no names, freight yards full of old black men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good mornin' America, how are you?
Say, don't you know me? I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles 'fore the day is done
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no-one keepin' score
Pa** the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels a-rumblin' 'neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel;
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rythm of the rails is all they feel
Good day, America, how are you?
Say, don't you know me? I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles 'fore the day is done
Nighttime on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there 'fore mornin'
Through the Mississippi darkness rollin' down to the sea
And all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream
And the steel wheels still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again, the pa**engers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearin' railroad blues
Good night, America, how are you?
Say, don't you know me? I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done