Ridin′ on the 'City of New Orleans′

Illinois Central, Monday morning rail

15 cars and 15 restless ridersThree conductors and 25 sacks of mail

All along the southbound odyssey, the train pulled out at Kankakee

It rolls along past houses, farms and fields

Passing trains that have no name 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 500 miles, the day is done

Dealing cards with the old man 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, rockin' to the 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′

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, rollin' 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 500 miles when the day is done