Intro :
R idin'on the Ci ty of New Orlea ns,
Ill inois Central, Monday mornin' rail,
f ifteen cars and fifteen restless r iders
thr ee conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the south bound odyssey,
the train pulls out at Kankakee,
r olls along past houses, farms, and fields.
Passing trains that have no name,
and freight yards full of old black men
and the graveyards of the rusted automo biles.
[Refrain :]
Go od mornin'Ame rica how are yo u !
(Say), don't you know me ? I'm your native son !
I'm the train they call The City of New O rleans,
-
I'll be gone fiv e hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealin'cards to the o ld men in the c lub car,
p enny a point ain't no one keepin'score .
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle,
and feel the wheels rumblin''n eath the floor .
And the sons of Pullman porters and the s ons of engineers
ride their fathers'magic carpets made of st eel,
mothers with their babes asleep are rockin'to the gentle beat,
and the rythm of the wheels is all they feel
[Refrain]
(instrumental)
N ight time on The City of New Orlea ns,
c hangin'cars in Me mphis Tennesse e,
h alfway home, we'll b e there by mo rnin',
through the Mis sissippi darkness rollin'do wn to the s ea.
But all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream,
the s teel rail still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again : " Passengers will please Refrain !"
The train has got the disapp'rin'railroad bl ues.
[Refrain]
...