Ridin' 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 of Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no names
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of 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
And I'll be gone five hundred miles
When the day is done
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score
Pass that paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels a rumbling neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
And the mothers with their babes asleep
Rockin' to that gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Good morning America...
Now it's night time 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 songs again
The passengers will please refrain
This train has got to disappearing railroad blues
Good morning America...
Writer(s): Ketch Secor
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