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