Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls 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?
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 five hundred miles when the day is done

Dealin' cards 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
And feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel
And 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 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 five hundred miles when the day is done

Nighttime on The City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Half way home, but 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 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

Goodnight 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 five hundred miles when the day is done

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): Steve Goodman