title: City Of New Orleanskey: Countryharp type: Chromaticgenre: Gskill: AnyBy: Steve GoodmanArlo Guthrie, Willie NelsonKey: G-5 -5 -5 -5 -5 -5 -5 5 5 -4Rid-in’ on the Cit-y Of New Or-leans-4 -4 -4 -4 3 6 6 6 -5 -5 -5Il-li-nois Cen-tral, Mon-day morn-in’ rail-5 -5 -5 -5 -5 -5 -5 5 5 -4Fif-teen cars and fif-teen rest-less rid-ers-4 -4 -4 3Three con-duc-tors;-4 -5 -5 -5 -5 -2* 3and twen-ty-five sacks of mail-4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4All a-long the south-bound od-ys-sey-4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4the train pulls out of Kan-ka-kee-4 -5 -5 -5 -5 -5 -5 -5 -5 6 5*And rolls a-long the hous-es, farms, and fields-4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4Pass-in’ towns that have no name,-4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4 -4and freight yards full of old black men-5 -5 -5 -5 -3 -4And the grave-yards of the4 4 4 -4 -3 3rust-ed au-to-mo-biles 7 7 -6* -6*-6*-6*-6* 6 -5 3Good morn-ing, A-mer-i-ca, how are you?-3 -4 -4 -4 3 6 6 6 -5 -5Say, don’t you know me? I’m your na-tive son-5 5 -4 -4 -4I’m the train they call-4 -5 -5 -5 6 -4-3 3the Cit-y Of New Or-leans3 3 -6 -6 6 6 -5I’ll be gone five hun-dred miles-5 -5 -55 -4 3when the day is doneDealing card games with the old man in the Club CarPenny a point – ain’t no one keeping scorePass the paper bag that holds the bottleFeel the wheels rumbling ‘neath the floorAnd the sons of Pullman Porters, and the sons of EngineersRide their father’s magic carpets made of steelAnd, mothers with their babes asleep rocking to the gentle beatAnd the rhythm of the rails is all they feelGood morning, America, how are you?Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native sonI’m the train they call the City Of New OrleansI’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is doneNight time on the City Of New OrleansChanging cars in Memphis TennesseeHalfway home – we’ll be there by morningThrough the Mississippi darkness, rolling down to the seaBut, all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dreamAnd the steel rail still ain’t heard the newsThe conductor sings his songs again – the passengers will pleaserefrainThis train got the disappearing railroad bluesGood night, America, how are ya?Said, don’t you know me? I’m your native sonI’m the train they call the City Of New OrleansI’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done