City of New Orleans

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 pulled 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 graveyards 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' card games 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 rumblin' '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

Are rockin' to the gentle beat

And the rhythm of the rail 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

Nighttime 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

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 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

I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done