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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.
Em
All on a southbound odyssey,
Bm
the train pulls out of Kentucky,
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rolls past horses, farms and fields.
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Passing trains that have no name
Bm
and freight yards full of old black men,
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and the graveyards of rusted automobiles. Singing...
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Good morning, America, how are you?
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Hey, 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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and I´ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
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2. Dealing cards to the old men in the club car,
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penny a point, and no one`s keeping score.
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Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle,
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you can feel the wheels grumbling `neath the floor.
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The sons of Pullman porters, and the sons of engineers
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ride their father`s magic carpet made of steel.
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And mothers with their babes asleep,
Bm
are rocking to the gentle beat,
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the rhythm of rails is all they feel. + Chorus
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3. Nighttime on the City of New Orleans,
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changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
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Halfway home, and we`ll be there by morning,
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through the Mississippi darkness rollin` to sea.
Em
But all the towns and people
Bm
seem to fade into a bad dream,
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the steel rail hasn`t heard the news.
Em
The conductor sings his song again,
Bm
it`s “Passengers will please refrain!“
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This train`s got the Disappearing Railway Blues. Singing.....