What a beautiful song, in any of its versions . . . The City Of New Orleans, by Steve Goodman Ridin on the City of New Orleans Illinois Central, Monday mornin rail Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail All along the south-bound odyssey The train pulls out at Kankakee And rolls along past houses, farms and fields Passin trains that have no names And freight yards full of old black men And the grave-yards of the rusted automobiles Good morning America, how are you? Say dont you know me, Im your native son Im the train they call the City of New Orleans And Ill be gone five-hundred miles when the day is done Dealin cards with the old men in the club car Penny a point aint no one keepin score Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle Feel the wheels grumblin neath the floor And the sons of Pullman porters, and the sons of engineers Ride their fathers magic carpet made of steel Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin to the gentle beat And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel Good morning America, how are you? Say dont you know me, Im your native son Im the train they call the City of New Orleans Ill 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, well be there by mornin Thru the Mississippi darkness rollin down to the sea But all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream And the steel rails still aint heard the news The conductor sings his songs again The passengers will please refrain This train has got the disappear in railroad blues. Goodnight America, how are you? Say dont you know me, Im your native son Im the train they call the City of New Orleans Ill be gone five-hundred miles when the day is done https://youtube/watch?v=AJ0JgqoF2W4
Posted on: Sat, 24 Jan 2015 05:57:28 +0000