FWT Homepage Translator

Tuesday, December 01, 2009



VERSE # 1:
Riding 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 at Kankakee.
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

Good morning America, how are you?
Don't you know me? I'm your native son.
I'm the train they call,
The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles
When the day is done.

VERSE # 2:
Dealin' card games with
The old men in the club car.
Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle.
Feel the wheels rumbling underneath the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep
Are rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

VERSE # 3:
Night time on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning.
Through the Mississippi darkness,
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain.
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.

No comments: