Riding on the city of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty five sacks of mail

All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no name and grave 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

Dealing cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point ain't no one keeping score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels grumbling neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes a sleep rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rail 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

Nighttime on the city of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis Tennessee
Halfway home and we'll be there by morning
Thru the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea

But 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 trains got the disappearing railroad blues

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

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