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 a-

long the south bound odyssey, 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

And the

graveyards of the

rusted automo-

biles.

Good morning A-

merica, 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.

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

rumblin' 'neath the

floor

And the

sons of Pullman porters and the

sons of engineers

Ride their

fathers' magic carpets made of

steel

Mothers with their babes asleep,

rockin' to the gentle beat

And the

rhythm of the

rails is all they

feel.

Good morning A-

merica, 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.

Night time on the

City of

New Orleans

Changing cars in

Memphis, Tennes-

see

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 songs again, the

passengers will please refrain

This

train got the disappearing railroad

blues.

Good night A-

merica, 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.