City of New Orleans - Live

The City of New Orleans
 by Steve Goodman
 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.