Steve Goodman
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
15 cars and 15 restless riders
Three conductors, 25 sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains 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' card games 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 rumblin' neath the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And 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, "The passengers will please refrain"
This train has got the disappearin' rail road blues.
Chorus