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 pulls out at Kankakee

Rolls along past houses, farms and fields

Passin' trains that have no names

Freight yards full of old black men

And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles

Good morning, America, how are you

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 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 steam

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

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

Good morning, America, how are you

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

Good night, America, how are you

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