Ridin′ on the City of New Orleans Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail 15 cars and 15 restless riders Three conductors, 25 sacks of mail

All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of Kankakee Rolls along past houses, farms & fields Passin′ graves 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 500 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 And feel the wheels grumblin' neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters & 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 500 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' Through the Mississippi darkness rollin′ down to the sea

But all the towns & 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 train has got the disappearin' railroad blues

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 500 miles when the day is done