Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central, monday morning 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
and rolls along the houses, farms and fields
Passing towns that have no name
Freight yards full of old brave men
The graveyards of rusted automobiles, singing:

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.

I was dealing cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, there ain't no one keeping score,
Say, won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle,
you can feel the wheels grumbling thru' the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
And the days are full of restless
And the dreams are full of mem'ries
And the echos of the freight train whistles clear, singing: 

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.

But it's twighlight on the City of New Orleans
Talk about your pocket full of friends
Halfway home, and we'll be there by morning
With no tomorrow waiting 'round the band, singing: 

Good night America, I love you
Singing: 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 fivehundred miles when the day is done, singing: 

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.