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City of New Orleans (As performed by Arlo Guthrie)

Steve Goodman


      
Into:
                      
| G / / / | G / / / |

                                        
| G      /      D    /   |  G   / / / |
                                  
Riding on the City of New Orleans
                                                    
| Em       /       C      /     | G   /   /   /   |
                                     
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
                                                    
| G       /        D       /      | G   /   /   / |
                                         
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
                                                
| Em     /    D           /      | G  /  /  / |
                                                
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
                                                                    
| Em        /           /    /     | Bm          /      /     /   |
                                                                   
All along the south bound odyssey, the train pulls out of Kenkakee
                                                     
| D      /         /      /       | A   /   /   /  |
                                         
Rolls along past houses farms and fields
                                                                     
| Em       /          /       /   | Bm      /        /         /   |
                                                                 
Passing trains that have no name, freight yards of old black men
                                                 
| D      /      D7     /    | G    /   /   /   |
                                      
And graveyards of rusted automobiles.


        
Chorus:
                                                  
| C      /      D7   /   |  G      /    /   /   |
                                   
Good morning America, how are you?
        
1/2 1/2
                                                                 
| Em        /        C        /    |  G      /    /   D7  D9   |
                                             
Say, don't you know me, I'm your native son.
                                                           
| G          /        D    /    | Em     Em7    A7    /  |
                                                
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
                                                              
| Bb        C       D              D9    | G    /   /   /   |
                                                      
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.


                                                    
Dealing card games with the old men in the club car
                                        
Penny a point ain't noone keeping score
                                       
Pass the paper bag but hold the bottle
                                          
Feel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor
                                                          
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
                                                
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel
                                                        
Mother with her babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat
                                              
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
                   
Chorus. (As above)

                                    
Nightime 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.
                                                            
But all the towns and people seem to fade into a dark dream
                                              
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
                                                                       
The conductor sings his songs again, the passagers will please refrain
                                                
This train got the disappearing railroad blues.

        
Chorus:
                                 
Good night 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.