Steve Goodman - City Of New Orleans lyrics

rate me

Riding on the City of New Orleans

Illinois Central, Monday morning rail

Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders

Three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail.

All along the southbound odyssey, the train pulls out of Kankakee

Rolls along past houses, farms and fields

Passing graves that have no name, 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.

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 keeping score.

Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle

And feel the wheels grumbling neath the floor.

And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of the engineers

Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel.

Mothers with their babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat

And the rhythm of the rail is all they feel.

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 in the City of New Orleans

Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.

Halfway home, 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 song again, the passengers will please refrain

This train has got the disappearing railroad blues.

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.