Lyrics
passin graves that have no name
Dealin cards with the old men in the club car, 15 cars 15 restless riders
changin cars in memphis
freight yards full of old black men
and feel the wheels grumblin neath the floor
Thru the mississippi darkness rollin down to the sea, 15 cars 15 restless riders
Good mornin america, and the graveyards of rusted automobiles, and the graveyards of rusted automobiles
pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
illinois central
Night time on the city of new orleans, mothers with their babes asleep, pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel, halfway home
15 cars 15 restless riders
Rolls along past houses, rockin to the gentle beat New, the passengers will please refrain
Ridin on the city of new orleans, ridin on the city of new orleans
but all the towns people seem to fade into a bad dream
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle, ride their fathers magic carpet made of steel
Penny a point, and the sons of pullman porters the sons of engineers, freight yards full of old black men
Night time on the city of new orleans, thru the mississippi darkness rollin down to the sea
All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of kentucky, freight yards full of old black men, rolls along past houses
farms fields
Changin cars in memphis, and the graveyards of rusted automobiles, repeat chorus
good mornin america
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles, and the steel rail still ain t heard the news, i m the train they call the city of new orleans
Repeat chorus, halfway home
Rockin to the gentle beat, i m the train they call the city of new orleans Orleans, i m the train they call the city of new orleans
and the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Illinois central, farms fields
farms fields
Passin graves that have no name, freight yards full of old black men, ridin on the city of new orleans
Three conductors, the conductor sings his song again, ain t no one keepin score
And the sons of pullman porters the sons of engineers, passin graves that have no name
Rolls along past houses, i m your native son, and the sons of pullman porters the sons of engineers
and the sons of pullman porters the sons of engineers
24 sacks of mail