The City of New Orleans

The City of New Orleans - Rhonda Vincent

Lyrics by：Steve Goodman

Riding 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

Rolls fasters houses farms and fields

Passing towns that have no name

Freight yards full of old black men

And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles

Singing 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 one keeping score

Won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle

You can feel the wheels grumbling neath the floor

And the sons of pullman porters

And the sons of engineers

Ride their fathers magic carpet made of steel

Mothers with their babes a sleep

Rocking to the gentle beat

And the rhythm of the rail is all they feel

Singing 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 on 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 trains got the disappearing railroad blues

Singing 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