The City of New Orleans - The Krüger Brothers

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

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.

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

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

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