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 trains that have no name and graveyards full of old black men
And graveyards full of 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
Dealing cards with an old man in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score
Pass that paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels a rumbling neath the floor
And the sons of poor men porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep rocking to that 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
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
Half way 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 rails still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again the passengers will please refrain
This train has 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
And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
