City of New Orleans (Fogerty’s Factory Version) John Fogerty

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
And rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no name
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles

Good morning America, how are you
Say, 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

Dealing card games with thе old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no onе keeping score
Won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor

And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpets made of steel
And mothers with their babes asleep
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel