The City of New Orleans

Riding on the city of New Orleans Illinois Central, Monday morning rail Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders Three conductors and twentyfour sacks of mail All along the southbound odyssey The train rolls out of Kankakee And rolls along past houses, farms and fields Passin' trains that have no name And switch yards full of old black men And the graveyards full 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 I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done Dealin' card with an old man in the club car Penny a point nobody's keepin' score Hey now! Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle And feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor And the sons of Pullman Porters And the sons of engineers Ride their daddy's magic carpet made of steel Mothers with their babes asleep Rockin' to the gentle beat And the rhythm of the rail 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 five hundred miles when the day is done 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 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 five hundred miles when the day is done I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done