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 towns that have no name and freight 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