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The City Of New Orleans

Riding on the City Of New Orleans

Illinois Central, Monday morning rail

Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders

Three Conductors; 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 freight yards full of old black men

And the graveyards of the rusted automobile

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

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

Dealing card games with the old man in the Club Car

Penny a point - ain't no one keeping score

As the paper bag that holds the bottle

Feel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman Porters, and the sons of Engineers

Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel

And, mothers with their babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat

And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

Good morning, America, how are you?

Night time on the City Of New Orleans

Changing cars in Memphis Tennessee

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, America, how are you?