The City of New Orleans

Riding on the City of New Orleans

Illinois Central, Monday morning 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, and fields

Passing trains that have no name

An' freight yards full of old black men

And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles

Good morning, America, how are ya?

Said 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

Dealing card games with the old men in the club car

Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score

Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle

Feel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters

And the sons of engineers

Ride their fathers' magic carpets made of steel

Mothers with their babes asleep

Are rockin' to the gentle beat

And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

Good morning, America, how are ya?

Said 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

Nighttime on the City of New Orleans

Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee

Halfway 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 rail still ain't heard the news

The conductor sings his songs again

The passengers will please refrain

This train got the disappearing railroad blues

Good night, America, how are you?

Said 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