Riding on the City of New OrleansIllinois Central, Monday morning rail15 cars and 15 restless ridersThree conductors, 25 sacks of mailAll along the southbound odysseyThe train pulls out of KankakeeAnd rolls along past houses, farms, and fieldsPassing trains that have no nameAnd freight yards full of old black menAnd the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning, America, how are you?Said don't you know me? I'm your native sonI'm the train they call the City of New OrleansI'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Dealing card games with the old men in the club carPenny a point, ain't no one keeping scorePass the paper bag that holds the bottleFeel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman portersAnd the sons of engineersRide their fathers' magic carpets made of steelMothers with their babes asleepAre rockin' to the gentle beatAnd the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Good morning, America, how are you?Said don't you know me? I'm your native sonI'm the train they call the City of New OrleansI'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Night-time on the City of New OrleansChanging cars in Memphis, TennesseeHalfway home, we'll be there by morningThrough the Mississippi darkness, rolling down to the sea
But all the towns and people seemTo fade into a bad dreamAnd the steel rail still ain't heard the newsThe conductor sings his songs againThe passengers will please refrainThis train got the disappearing railroad blues
Good night, America, how are you?Said don't you know me? I'm your native sonI'm the train they call the City of New OrleansI'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done