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 at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no names
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles

Good morning 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

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
And feel the wheels grumbling down 'neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of the engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpets made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

Good morning 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
And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

Night time on the City of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness, rolling 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 disappearing railroad blues"

Good morning 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
And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

Good morning 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
And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done