Riding on the city
of New Orleans Hill
North Central, Monday morning rain
Fifteen cars,
fifteen restless rider s
Three conductors,
twenty -five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey,
the train pulls out of Kangakee Road s along pass houses,
farms and fields
Passing trains that had no name,
freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the
rusted automobiles
Well it's good morning America now,
aren't you?
Now, don't you know me,
I'm your native son
I'm a train that comes to the
of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles
when the day is done
Dealin' cards with the old
men in the club car
Penny and pointer,
nobody's keepin' score
Pass the paper bag
that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' near the floor
And the sons of foregone porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic
carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep
rockin' to that gentle beat
And the rhythm of the
rails is all they feel
Good morning America, how are you?
Now don't you know me,
I'm your native son
I'm a train to go to the city
of New Orleans
I'll be gone by a hundred miles
when the day is done
Nighttime on the city of
New Or leans
Changing cars in Memphis,
Tennessee
Halfway home,
we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
rolling down to the sea
All the towns and people
seem to fade into a bad dream
Steel rails still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings a song again
Passengers will please refrain
And this train got to disappear
in fair old blue
Good morning America, how are you?
Now don't you know me,
I'm your native son
I'm a train to go to the city of
New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles
when the day is done
Well it's good morning America,
how are you?
Now don't you know me,
I'm your native son
I'm a train to call the city
of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles
when the day is done
I'll be gone five hundred miles
when the day is done
You