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John Denver |
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Miscellaneous |
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City Of New Orleans |
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Riding on the "City of New Orleans" |
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Illinois Central Monday Morning Rail |
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Less fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders |
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Three conductors and twenty five sacks of mails |
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They're out on the south-bound odissey and the train pulls out of Kankoke |
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Rolling past houses, farms and fields |
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Passing towns that have no names and freightyards full of old black men |
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And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles |
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Singing Good Morning A-merica. How are you? |
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Saying don't you know me, I'm your native son? |
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I'm the train they call "City of New Orleans". |
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the days is done |
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I was dealing cards with the old man in the club car |
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Plenty of points there ain't no one keeping score |
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Say won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle |
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And feel the wheels rumbling through the floor |
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And the sons of foregone porters and the sons of engineers |
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Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel |
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And the days were full of restless and their dreams were full of memories |
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And the echos of the freight train whistles clear |
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Singing Good Morning A-merica. How are you? |
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Saying don't you know me, I'm your native son? |
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Yes I'm the train they call "City of New Orleans". |
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the days is done |
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But it's twilight on the city of New Orleans |
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Talk about a pocket full of friends |
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Halfway home, we'll be there by morning |
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With no tomorrow waiting 'round of then |
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Singing goodbye A-merica. I love you |
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Saying don't you know me, I'm your native son? |
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I'm the train they call "City of New Orleans". |
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the days is done |
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Singing Good Morning A-merica. How are you? |
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Saying don't you know me, I'm your native son? |
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Yes I'm the train they call the "City of New Orleans". |
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the days is done |
