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 twenty-five sacks of mail

All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no names
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles

Good morning America how are you?
I said, 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 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 father's magic carpets made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep are rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all that they feel

Good morning America how are you?
I said, 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

Good morning America how are you?
I said, 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

Good night, America, how are you?
I said, 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