City of New Orleans
Written Steve Goodman
Recorded by Frank McKinnon
LYRICS
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 graveyards full of old great men, and graveyards full of 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 rail is all they feel
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.
Night time on the City of New Orleans, changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee. Halfway home, 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.
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.
MP3 Copy of Studio Recording
Recorded in 2000
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[MP3 Copy of Studio Recording]
David Smith: Guitar
Jim Ostrander: Bass Guitar
Tom Blake: Vocal Harmony
Frank McKinnon: Guitar and Vocal
