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 mails All along a south-bound odissey the train pulls out of Kankakee Rolls along past houses, farms and fields Passing trains that have no name freight yards full of old black men the graveyards of the rusted automobiles Singing Good Morning A-merica, how are you? Saying 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 days is done Dealing cards with the old men in the club car Penny a points ain't no one keeping score pass the paper bag that holds the bottle feel the wheels a rumbling 'neath the floor And the sons of pulmann porters and the sons of engineers Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel And mothers with their babes asleep rockin' to the gentle beat And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel Singing Good Morning A-merica, how are you? Saying 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 days is done Nighttime on the City of New Orleans Changing cars in Memphis, Tennesse Halfway home, we'll be there by morning Through the Mississippi darkness rolling down the sea But all the towns and people seems to fade into a bad dream And the steel rails still ain't heard the news The conductor sings his songs again the passenger will please refrain This train has got the disappearing railroad blues Singing Good Morning A-merica, how are you? Saying 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 days is done