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Riding on the |
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City of New |
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OrleansIllinois |
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Central Monday morning rail |
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Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders |
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Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail |
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All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out at |
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KankakeeAnd rolls along past houses, farms and fields |
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Passin' trains that have no names and freight yards full of old black men |
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And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles |
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Good morning |
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America how are you? |
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See, don't you know me |
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I'm your native son |
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I'm the train they call |
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The City of |
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New Orleans |
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And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done |
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Dealin' card games 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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Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor |
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And the sons of pullman porters and the sons of engineers |
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Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel |
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Mothers with their babes asleep are rockin' to the gentle beat |
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And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel |
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Good morning |
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America how are you? |
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See, don't you know me |
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I'm your native son |
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I'm the train they call |
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The City of |
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New Orleans |
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done |
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Nighttime on |
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The City of |
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New Orleans |
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Changing cars in |
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Memphis, Tennessee |
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Half way home, we'll be there by morning |
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Through the |
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Mississippi darkness rolling 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 rails still ain't heard the news |
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The conductor sings his song again, the passengers will please refrain |
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This train's got the disappearing railroad blues |
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Good morning |
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America how are you? |
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See, don't you know me |
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I'm your native son |
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I'm the train they call |
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The City of |
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New Orleans |
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done |
