City Of New Orleans

by Steve Goodman



Riding on the City of New Orleans

Illinois Central Monday morning rail

There's fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders

Three conductors and twenty five sacks of mail

They're out on the south-bound odyssey and the train pulls out of Kankakee

Rolling past houses, farms and fields

Passing towns that have no names and freightyards full of old black men

And the graveyards full of rusted automobiles



Singing good morning America, how are you

Saying don't you know me, I'm your native son

I'm the train they call City of New Orleans

I'll be gone five hundred miles when the days is done



I was dealing cards with the old man in the club car

Plenty of points there ain't no one keeping score

Say won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle

And feel the wheels rumbling through the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers

Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel

And the days were full of

restless and their dreams were full of memories

And the echos of the freight train whistles clear



Singing good morning America, how are you

Saying don't you know me, I'm your native son

Yes I'm the train they call City of New Orleans

I'll be gone five hundred miles when the days is done



But it's twilight on the city of New Orleans

Talk about a pocket full of friends

Halfway home, we'll be there by morning

With no tomorrow waiting round the bend



Singing goodbye America, I love you

Saying don't you know me, I'm your native son

I'm the train they call City of New Orleans

I'll be gone five hundred miles when the days is done



Singing good morning America, how are you

Saying 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 five hundred miles when the days is done