Ridin′ on the 'City of New Orleans′
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
15 cars and 15 restless ridersThree conductors and 25 sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey, the train pulled out at Kankakee
It rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no name and freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning 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'
And I′ll be gone 500 miles, the day is done
Dealing cards with the old man in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keepin′ score
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 carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Good morning 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 500 miles when the day is done
Nighttime on the ′City of New Orleans'
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we′ll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness, rollin' down to the sea
But 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 songs again, the passengers will please refrain
This train has got the disappearing railroad blues
Good morning 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 500 miles when the day is done
