John Denver - City of New Orleans lyrics
[John Denver - City of New Orleans lyrics]
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
There's 15 cars, and 15 restless riders
3 conductors and 25 sacks of mail
All along a southbound odyssey
And the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past the houses
Farms and fields
Passin' towns that have no names
And freightyards full of old grey men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Dealin' cards with the old men
In the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels a rumblin' through the floor
And the son's of Pullman Porter's
And the son's of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet
Made of steel
And the days are full of restless
And the dreams are full of memories
And the echoes of the
Freight train whistles clear
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' don't you know me
I'm your native son?
Yes, I'm the train they call
The City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when they day is done
But, it's twilight on the City of New Orleans
Talk about a pocket full of friends
Halfway home, and we'll be there by mornin'
With no tomorrow waiting 'round the bend
Singin' good night America, I love you
Sayin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' don't you know me
I'm your native son?
Yes, I'm the train they call
The City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when they day is done
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
There's 15 cars, and 15 restless riders
3 conductors and 25 sacks of mail
All along a southbound odyssey
And the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past the houses
Farms and fields
Passin' towns that have no names
And freightyards full of old grey men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Dealin' cards with the old men
In the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels a rumblin' through the floor
And the son's of Pullman Porter's
And the son's of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet
Made of steel
And the days are full of restless
And the dreams are full of memories
And the echoes of the
Freight train whistles clear
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' don't you know me
I'm your native son?
Yes, I'm the train they call
The City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when they day is done
But, it's twilight on the City of New Orleans
Talk about a pocket full of friends
Halfway home, and we'll be there by mornin'
With no tomorrow waiting 'round the bend
Singin' good night America, I love you
Sayin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' don't you know me
I'm your native son?
Yes, I'm the train they call
The City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when they day is done