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.
All along the southbound odyssey
the train pulls out of Canuti
and rolls along past
houses, farms and fields,
passing trains that have no name,
and grave yards full of old great men,
and graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
Good mornin' America how are ya?
Hey, 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 five hundred miles
when the day is done
Playin' cards with the old men
in the club car
many a boy, ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle.
Feel the wheels rumble beneath the floor.
And the sons of pullmen porters
and the sons of engineers
ride their fathers' magic carpet
made of steel.
Mothers with their babies sleep
rockin' to the gentle beat.
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Night time on the City of New Orleans,
changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
and we'll be there by mornin'.
The Mississippi darkness
rollin down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
to fade into a bad dream.
But the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his songs again.
The passengers will please refrain.
This train has got the
dissappearin' railroad blues.
mp3 Copy of Studio Recording
If your computer won't play it on this page,
then try the link below.
[mp3 Copy of Studio Recording]
David Smith: Guitar
Jim Ostrander: Bass Guitar
Tom Blake: Vocal Harmony
Frank McKinnon: Guitar and Vocal