Steve Goodman - City New Orleans lyrics
[Steve Goodman - City New Orleans lyrics]
The City of New Orleans
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
Fourteen cars and fourteen restless riders
Three conductors, twenty five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey
The train rolls out of Kankakee
Ridin' past the houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no names
Freight yards full of old black men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good mornin' 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
'fore the day is done
Dealin' card games 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' '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 asleep
Rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rythm of the rails is all they feel
Good day, 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
'fore the day is done
Nighttime on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there 'fore mornin'
Through the Mississippi darkness rollin'
Down to the sea
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel wheels still
Ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again
The passengers will please, refrain
This train's got the
Disappearin' railroad blues
Good night, 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
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
Fourteen cars and fourteen restless riders
Three conductors, twenty five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey
The train rolls out of Kankakee
Ridin' past the houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no names
Freight yards full of old black men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good mornin' 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
'fore the day is done
Dealin' card games 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' '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 asleep
Rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rythm of the rails is all they feel
Good day, 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
'fore the day is done
Nighttime on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there 'fore mornin'
Through the Mississippi darkness rollin'
Down to the sea
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel wheels still
Ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again
The passengers will please, refrain
This train's got the
Disappearin' railroad blues
Good night, 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