Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' 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
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no name,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
Good mornin' 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
Dealin' cards with old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't nobody keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels
Grumblin' 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 asleep,
Rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Good mornin' 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
Night time on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home and we'll be there by mornin'
Thru the Mississippi darkness
Rollin' 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

This train has got
The disappearin' railroad blues
Good night 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
I'll be gone five hundred miles
When the day is done
I'll be gone five hundred miles