Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' 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
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' graves that have no name, freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles

Good mornin' America, how are you?
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' cards with the old men on the club car
Penny a point, ain't nobody's keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels grumblin' neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their daddy's magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

Good mornin' America, how are you?
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
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there by mornin'
Thru the Mississippi darkness rollin' down to the sea

And all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his song again
"The passengers will please refrain:
This train has got the disappearin' railroad blues

Good mornin' America, how are you?
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

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