Song parody of
City of New Orleans
by John Denver
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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 a southbound odyssey
The train pulls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' towns that have no name
Freight yards full of old black men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Singing good morning America, how are you?
Saying, 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 500 miles when the day is done
Dealing cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels a rumbling beneath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel
And mothers with their babes asleep
Rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Singing good morning America, how are you?
Saying 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 500 miles when the day is done
Night time on the City of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home and we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea
But 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 has got the disappearing railroad blues
Singing good morning America, how are you?
Saying 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 500 miles when the day is done
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 a southbound odyssey
The train pulls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' towns that have no name
Freight yards full of old black men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Singing good morning America, how are you?
Saying, 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 500 miles when the day is done
Dealing cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels a rumbling beneath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel
And mothers with their babes asleep
Rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Singing good morning America, how are you?
Saying 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 500 miles when the day is done
Night time on the City of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home and we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea
But 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 has got the disappearing railroad blues
Singing good morning America, how are you?
Saying 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 500 miles when the day is done
