Riding on the City of Trondheim,
Oslo Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the northbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Oslo
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

CHORUS:
Good morning Norway how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of Trondheim,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.