City Of New Orleans Lyrics
| Song | City Of New Orleans |
| Artist | David Hasselhoff |
| Album | Sings America |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 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 | |
| Their out on the southbound odyssey | |
| The train pulls out of Kankakee | |
| Rolls along past houses, farms and fields | |
| Passin' towns that have no names | |
| Freightyards full of old grey men | |
| And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles. | |
| Singing 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 with the old men in the club car | |
| Penny a point, aint't no one keepin score | |
| Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle | |
| Feel the wheels rumblin ´neath the floor | |
| And the sons of the pullman porters | |
| And the sons of the engineers | |
| Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel | |
| And the days are full of restless | |
| And the dreams are full of memories | |
| And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done | |
| Well, its twilight on the city of New Orleans | |
| Talk about your pocketful of friends | |
| Half way home and we'll be there by mornin' | |
| No tomorrow waitin' round the bend | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done |
| 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 | |
| Their out on the southbound odyssey | |
| The train pulls out of Kankakee | |
| Rolls along past houses, farms and fields | |
| Passin' towns that have no names | |
| Freightyards full of old grey men | |
| And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles. | |
| Singing 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 with the old men in the club car | |
| Penny a point, aint' t no one keepin score | |
| Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle | |
| Feel the wheels rumblin neath the floor | |
| And the sons of the pullman porters | |
| And the sons of the engineers | |
| Ride their father' s magic carpets made of steel | |
| And the days are full of restless | |
| And the dreams are full of memories | |
| And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done | |
| Well, its twilight on the city of New Orleans | |
| Talk about your pocketful of friends | |
| Half way home and we' ll be there by mornin' | |
| No tomorrow waitin' round the bend | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done |
| 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 | |
| Their out on the southbound odyssey | |
| The train pulls out of Kankakee | |
| Rolls along past houses, farms and fields | |
| Passin' towns that have no names | |
| Freightyards full of old grey men | |
| And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles. | |
| Singing 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 with the old men in the club car | |
| Penny a point, aint' t no one keepin score | |
| Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle | |
| Feel the wheels rumblin neath the floor | |
| And the sons of the pullman porters | |
| And the sons of the engineers | |
| Ride their father' s magic carpets made of steel | |
| And the days are full of restless | |
| And the dreams are full of memories | |
| And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done | |
| Well, its twilight on the city of New Orleans | |
| Talk about your pocketful of friends | |
| Half way home and we' ll be there by mornin' | |
| No tomorrow waitin' round the bend | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done | |
| Singing 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 before the day is done |
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