Intro: G G
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Riding on the City of New Orleans,
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Illinois 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 south bound odyssey, the train pulls out of Kankakee,
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Rolls along past houses farms and fields,
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Passing trains that have no name, freight yards of old black men
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And the graveyards of rusted automobiles.
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Good morning, America, how are you?
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Say, don't you know me? I'm your native son.
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I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans.
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealing card games with the old men in the club car,
Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score.
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 fathers' magic carpets made of steel.
Mother with her babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Chorus. (As above)
Nightime on the City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis Tennessee.
Half way home and we'll be there by morning
through the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea.
But all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream,
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his songs again, "The passagers will please refrain ..."
This train got the disappearing railroad blues.
Chorus:
Good night, 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 five hundred miles when the day is done.