AWA

City of New Orleans

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  • 2013.07.23
  • 4:50
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Ridin' 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 of Kankakee And rolls along past houses farms and fields Passing trains that have no name and graveyards full of old black men And graveyards full of rusted automobiles Good morning 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 And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done Dealin' cards with an old man in the club car Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score Pass that paper bag that holds the bottle And feel the wheels a rumbling neath the floor And the sons of poor men porters and the sons of engineers Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel Mothers with their babes asleep rockin' to that gentle beat And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel Good morning 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 And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done Night time on the City of New Orleans changing cars in Memphis Tennessee Half way home we'll be there by morning Through the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea And all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream And the steel rails still ain't heard the news The conductor sings his songs again the passengers will please refrain This train has got the disappearing railroad blues Good morning 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 And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

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