Ridin' on the City of New Orleans Illinois Central Monday mornin' rail There's 15 cars, and 15 restless riders 3 conductors and 25 sacks of mail
All along a southbound oddeusy And the train pulls out of Kankakee And rolls along past the houses, farms and feilds Passin' trains that have no names And freightyards full of old black men The grave yards of the rusted automobiles
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you? Sayin' 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, aint no one keepin' score Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle. Feel the wheels a rumblin' through the floor.
And the son's of Pullman Porter's and the son's of engineers Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel And mothers with their fantasies, a rockin' to the gentle breeze And the rythym of the rail is all they feel
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you? Sayin' 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 500 miles when they day is done.
But its twilight on the City of New Orleans. Changing cars in Memphis, Tennesee Half way home, and we'll be there by mornin' 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 rails still ain't heard the news The conductor sings hius song again The passengers will please refrain This train has got the disapearing blues
Singin' good morning America, how are you? Sayin' 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.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
