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 Passin'
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
Dealin' cards with the old men in the club car Penny a point
ain't no one keepin' score Won't you pass the paper bag that holds the
bottle Feel the wheels rumblin' '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 rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they dream
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
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