Tom: B
Introdução:
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Riding on the City of New Orleans
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Illinois Central Monday morning rail
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Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
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Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
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All along the south bound odyssey, the train pulls out of Kenkakee
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Rolls along past houses farms and fields
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Passing trains that have no name, freight yards of old black men
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And graveyards of rusted automobiles.
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Good morning America, how are you?
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Say, don't you know me, I'm your native son.
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I'm a train they call the City of New Orleans
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
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Dealing card games with the old men in the club car
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Penny a point ain't noone keeping score
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Pass the paper bag but hold the bottle
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Feel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor
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And the sons of Pullman porters, and the sons of engineers
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Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel
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Mother with her babes asleep, rocking to the gentle beat
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And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
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Nightime on the City of New Orleans
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Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
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Half way home we'll be there by morning
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through the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea.
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and all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream
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And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
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The conductor sings his songs again, the passagers will please refrain
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This train got the disappearing railroad blues.
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Good night America, How are you?
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Say, don't you know me, I'm your native son.
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I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
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I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.