Steve Goodman

Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail;
There are fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors, twenty five sacks of mail.
They're all out on a southbound odyssey
The train rolls out of Kankakee
Rollin' past the houses, farms and fields,
Passin' trains that have no names
Freight yards full of old black men,
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

Singin', "Good mornin', America, how are you?
Say, 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 five hundred miles when day is done."

I was dealin' cards with the old men in the club car,
It's a penny a point, there ain't no-one keepin' score.
Won't you pass the paper bag that holds that bottle,
You can feel the wheels a-rumblin' through the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steam;
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat,
The rythm of the rails is all they dream.

Singin', "Good mornin', America, how are you?
Say, 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 five hundred miles when day is done."

Nighttime on the City of New Orleans,
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
It's halfway home, and we'll be there by mornin',
Through the Mississippi darkness rollin' down to the sea.
But all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream,
The old steel rail it ain't heard the news,
The conductor sings his song again, it's, "Passengers will please refrain..."
This train's got the disappearin' railroad blues.

Singin', "Good night, America, how are you?
Say, 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 five hundred miles when day is done."

Singin', "Good night, America, how are you?
Say, 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 a long, long time when the day is done."