Ridin' on the City Of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
15 cars and 15 restless riders
Three conductors and 24 sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey the train moves out of Kentucky
And moves along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no name, as which yards' full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good mornin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Dealin' cards 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 grumblin' neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their daddies' magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all that they feel
Good mornin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Good mornin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Good night 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 500 miles when the day is done
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
15 cars and 15 restless riders
Three conductors and 24 sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey the train moves out of Kentucky
And moves along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no name, as which yards' full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good mornin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Dealin' cards 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 grumblin' neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their daddies' magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all that they feel
Good mornin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Good mornin' 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 500 miles when the day is done
Good night 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 500 miles when the day is done