Ridin' on the city of New Orleans Illinois Central Monday mornin' rail Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders Three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail Out on the southbound odyssey The train pulls out of Kakakee And it rolls along past houses, farms and fields Passin' towns that have no name Freight yards full of old black men And the graveyards 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 I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car Penny a point ain't nobody keepin' 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 daddy's magic carpet make of steel Mothers with their babes asleep Are rockin' to the 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 I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Nighttime on the city of New Orleans Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee Halfway home and we'll be there by mornin' Thru the Mississippi darkness rollin' 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 that song again The passengers will please refrain This train's got the disappearin' 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 I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
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Copy to Clipboard: Ridin' on the city of New Orleans Illinois Central Monday mornin' rail Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders Three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail Out on the southbound odyssey The train pulls out of Kakakee And it rolls along past houses, farms and fields Passin' towns that have no name Freight yards full of old black men And the graveyards 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 I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car Penny a point ain't nobody keepin' 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 daddy's magic carpet make of steel Mothers with their babes asleep Are rockin' to the 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 I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Nighttime on the city of New Orleans Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee Halfway home and we'll be there by mornin' Thru the Mississippi darkness rollin' 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 that song again The passengers will please refrain This train's got the disappearin' 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 I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
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