Riding 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 at 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 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
Dealing card games with the old men in the club car Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score Pass 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 fathers' magic carpets made of steel And 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 Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee Half way 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 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 doneTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
