Riding on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses farms and fields
Passing trains that have no names
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning America how are you
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
Dealing cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point ain't no one keeping score
Won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumbling neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steam
Mothers with their babes asleep
Are rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they dream
Good morning America how are you
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
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis Tennessee
Half way home we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his song again
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues
Good night America how are you
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
