Lyrics:
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Ridin' on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail.
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' towns that have no name, freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles.
chorus
Good mornin' America, how are you?
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 no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels grumblin' neath the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters & the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat,
The rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
chorus
Night time on the City of New Orleans,
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Halfway home and we'll be there by mornin'
Thru the Mississippi darkness rollin' 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 song again,
"All passengers will please refrain . . ."
This train's got the disappearin' railroad blues.
chorus
Goodnight America How are you? ...
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