The City of New Orleans

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 oddyssey And the train pulls out of Kankakee And rolls along past the houses, farms and feilds Pa*sin' towns that have no names And freightyards full of old grey 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 Pa*s the paper bag that holds the bottle. Feel the wheels a rumblin' through the floor. And the sons of Pullman Porters and the sons of engineers Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel And their days are full of restless and their dreams are full of memories And the and the echos of the freight train whistle’s clear 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 it's twilight on the City of New Orleans. Talk about your pocket full of friends Half way home, and we'll be there by mornin' With no tomorrow waiting ‘round the bend Singin' good night America, I love 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. 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.