City Of New Orlens

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 Riding on the City of New Orleans,  
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    Illinois Central, Monday morning rail.  
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    Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,   
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    three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.  
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    All on a southbound odyssey,    
          Bm  
    the train pulls out of Kentucky,   
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    rolls past horses, farms and fields.    
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    Passing trains that have no name   
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    and freight yards full of old black men,  
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    and the graveyards of rusted automobiles. Singing...  
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Good morning, America, how are you?  
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Hey, don`t you know me, I`m your native son.  
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I`m the train they call the City of New Orleans,  
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and I´ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.  
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2. Dealing cards to the old men in the club car,    
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    penny a point, and no one`s keeping score.  
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     Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle,   
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     you can feel the wheels grumbling `neath the floor.   
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    The sons of Pullman porters, and the sons of engineers  
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    ride their father`s magic carpet made of steel.  
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    And mothers with their babes asleep,    
          Bm  
    are rocking to the gentle beat,  
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    the rhythm of rails is all they feel.   + Chorus  
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3. Nighttime on the City of New Orleans,     
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    changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.  
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    Halfway home, and we`ll be there by  morning,   
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    through the Mississippi darkness rollin`  to sea.  
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   But all the towns and people   
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    seem to fade into a bad dream,  
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    the steel rail hasn`t heard the news.  
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    The conductor sings his song again,  
             Bm  
    it`s  “Passengers will please refrain!“  
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    This train`s got the Disappearing Railway Blues. Singing.....