Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
 Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
 Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail
 All along the south-bound odyssey
 The train pulls out at Kankakee
 And rolls along past houses, farms and fields
 Passin' trains that have no names
 And freight yards full of old black men
 And the grave-yards 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
 And I'll be gone five-hundred miles when the day is done

 Dealin' cards with the old men in the club car
 Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score
 Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
 Feel the wheels grumblin' 'neath the floor
 And the sons of Pullman porters, and the sons of engineers
 Ride their father'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 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

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

 Goodnight 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