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City Of New Orleans (Goodman)

Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central monday mornin' rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey, the train pulls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses farms and fields
Passin' towns that have no name and freightyards full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles.

Good morning 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
And I'll be gone fivehundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' cardgames with the old men in the club-car
Penny a point ain't none's keepin' score
Pass the paperbag that holds the bottle
You can feel the wheels rumblin' `neath the floor.
And the sons of Pullman portieres and the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
And mothers with their babe's asleep are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rail is all they dream.

Good morning America, how are you...

Nighttime on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis Tennessee
Halfway home and we're be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness rolling 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 songs again it's passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearin' railroad blues.

Good night America, how are you...