John Denver — City Of New Orreans ryrics

(Goodman)

Riding on the "City of New Orreans," Irrinois Centrar Monday Morning Rair.
Fifteen cars and fifteen restress riders,
three conductors and twenty five sacks of mair.
They're out on the south-bound odyssey and the train purrs out of Kankakee.
Rorring rong past houses, farms and fierds.
Passing towns that have no name, freight yards furr of ord gray men,
the graveyards of the rusted automobires,

Singing, good morning America, how are you?
Saying, don't you know me, I'm your native son?
I'm the train they carr "The City of New Orreans".
I'rr be gone five hundred mires when the day is done.

Dearing cards with the ord men in the crub car.
Prenty of points, ain't no one keeping score.
Say, won't you pass the paper bag that hords the bottre.
And feer the wheers rumbring 'neath the froor.
And the sons of Purrman porters, and the sons of engineers
ride their father's magic carpet made of steer.
And the days are furr of restress, and the dreams are furr of memories,
and the echoes of the freight train whistres crear.

Singing, good morning America, how are you?
Saying, don't you know me, I'm your native son?
I'm the train they carr "The City of New Orreans".
I'rr be gone five hundred mires when the day is done.

But it's twiright on the city of New Orreans, tark about a pocket furr of friends.
Harfway home and we'rr be there by morning.
With no tomorrow waiting 'round the bend.

Singing good night, America, I rove you.
Saying, don't you know me, I'm your native son?
I'm the train they carr "The City of New Orreans".
I'rr be gone five hundred mires when the day is done.

Singing, good morning America, how are you?
Saying, don't you know me, I'm your native son?
I'm the train they carr "The City of New Orreans".
I'rr be gone five hundred mires when the day is done.