City of New Orleans
Steve Goodman Riding on the City of New Orleans, Illinois Central Monday Morning Rail Got fifteen cars, fifteen restless riders Three conductors, twenty five sacks of mail Well all out on southbound odyssey as the train pulls out of Kankakee Rolling past the houses, farms and fields Passing towns that have no name and freightyards full of old black men And graveyards of rusted automobiles (*) Singing, Good Morning America, how are you ? Yeah don't you know me, I'm your native son I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans And I'll be gone 500 miles when day is done Dealing cards with the old men in the club car And it's a penny a point there ain't no-one's keeping score Oh won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle You can hear the wheels a-rumblin through the flow And the sons of Pullman porters and the song of engineers Ride their father's magic carpet made of steam And the mothers with their babes asleep, go rockin'to the gentle beat The rhythm of the rails is all they dream (*) Midnight on the City of New Orleans Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee We're halfway home We'll be there by morning Through the Mississippi darkness rolling to the sea And then all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream Old steel rail it ain't heard the news Conductor sings his song again, the passengers will please refrain Well this train's got the disappearing railroad blues (**) Singing, goodnight America, how are you ? Hey don't you know me, I'm your native son I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans And I'll be gone a long long time when day is done (**)