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City of New Orleans Ringtone
City of New Orleans Ringtone
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30
@Mar
5399
Ridin' on the 'City of New Orleans'
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail,
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail
On a long southbound, hard to see (?) the train pull down at Kentucky
It rolls along past houses farms and fields
Passing trains that have no names and
Freight yards full them old black bins (?)
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
Good morning 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 500 miles when the day is done
Dealing cards with the old man in the club car
(?), ain't no one keepin' it slow
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumble beneath the floor
(?)
Ride your father's magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babies asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Good morning 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 500 miles when the day is done
Nighttime on the 'City of New Orleans"
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there by morning
Thru the Mississippi darkness, rollin' down to the sea
But all the towns that people seem to fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't hurt to do
The conductor sings his songs again
The passengers will (?)
The train has got the dissappearing railroad bloom
Good morning 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'
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
30
@Finley
158
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
15 cars and 15 restless riders
Three conductors, 25 sacks of mail
On the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms & fields
Passin' trains that have no name, freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
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
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Dealin' cards with the old men in the club car
A penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels grumblin' 'neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters & the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
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
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Night time on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there by mornin'
Thru the Mississippi darkness rollin' 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 song again
"The passengers will please refrain:
This train has got the disappearin' railroad blues"
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
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
15
@Mayar
154
City of New Orleans Lyrics
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central Monday mornin' rail
There's 15 cars, and 15 restless riders
3 conductors and 25 sacks of mail
All along a southbound oddeusy
And the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past the houses, farms and feilds
Passin' trains that have no names
And freightyards full of old black men
The grave yards of the rusted automobiles
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' don't you know me I'm your native son?
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done.
Dealin' cards with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point, aint no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle.
Feel the wheels a rumblin' through the floor.
And the son's of Pullman Porter's and the son's of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
And mothers with their fantasies, a rockin' to the gentle breeze
And the rythym of the rail is all they feel
Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' don't you know me I'm your native son.
Yes, I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when they day is done.
But its twilight on the City of New Orleans.
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennesee
Half way home, and we'll be there by mornin'
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 rails still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings hius song again
The passengers will pleaseain
This train has got the disapearing blues
Singin' good morning America, how are you?
Sayin' don't you know me I'm your native son?
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done.
20
@Meri
151
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
15 cars & 15 restless riders
Three conductors, and 24 sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey the train moves out of Kentucky
And moves along past houses, farms & fields
Passin' trains that have no name, as which yards' full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
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
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Dealin' cards with the old men on the club car
Penny a point, ain't nobody keepin' score
Then now pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels grumblin' neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters & the sons of engineers
Ride their daddies' magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
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
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
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
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
30
@Dorottya
4
Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the 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,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.
Good night, 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,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
