Arlo Guthrie never had a Top 10 song, but he certainly gave us two of the most memorable songs of the Rock Era ("Alice's Rock & Roll Restaurant" being the other). This one peaked at #18, but should have given Arlo a Top 10:
"The City Of New Orleans"
Arlo Guthrie
Lyrics and Music by Steve Goodman
Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central, monday morning rail,
fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound Odyssey
the train pulls out of Kankakee
and rolls along the houses, farms and fields,
passing towns that had no names
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.
Dealin' card games with the old man in the club car,
penny a point and no one's keepin' score,
pass the paper bag that holds the bottle,
you can feel the wheels grumblin' neath the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
ride their father's magic carpet made of steam
mothers with their babies asleep
are rochin' to the gentle beat
and the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
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.
Night-time on the City of New Orleans
changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
halfway home, we'll be there by morning
through the Mississippi darkness rollin' down to the sea.
But all the towns and people seen to fade into a bad dream
and the steel rail hasn't heard the news
the conductor sings his songs again,
it's passengers will please refrain,
this train's got the disappearin' railroad blues.
Goodnight 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
Illinois Central, monday morning rail,
fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound Odyssey
the train pulls out of Kankakee
and rolls along the houses, farms and fields,
passing towns that had no names
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.
Dealin' card games with the old man in the club car,
penny a point and no one's keepin' score,
pass the paper bag that holds the bottle,
you can feel the wheels grumblin' neath the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
ride their father's magic carpet made of steam
mothers with their babies asleep
are rochin' to the gentle beat
and the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
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.
Night-time on the City of New Orleans
changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
halfway home, we'll be there by morning
through the Mississippi darkness rollin' down to the sea.
But all the towns and people seen to fade into a bad dream
and the steel rail hasn't heard the news
the conductor sings his songs again,
it's passengers will please refrain,
this train's got the disappearin' railroad blues.
Goodnight 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
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.