Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central Monday mornin' rail
There's fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twentyfive sacks of mail

They're all on a southbound oddyssey
And the train pulls out of Kankakee
Rollin' along past the houses, farms and fields
Passin' towns that have no names
And freightyards full of old grey men
The grave yards of the rusted automobiles

Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' 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.

I am dealin' cards with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point, aint no one keepin' score
Say won't you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle.
And I'm feelin' the wheels a rumblin' through the floor.

And the sons of Pullman Porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
And their days are full of restless and their dreams are full of memories
And the and the echos of the freight train whistle's clear

Singin' good mornin' America, how are you?
Sayin' don't you know me I'm your native son.
Yes, I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when they day is done.

But its twilight on the City of New Orleans.
Talk about your pocket full of friends
Half way home, and we'll be there by mornin'
With no tomorrow waiting'round the bend

Singin' good night America, I love you,
Sayin' 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.

Singin' good morning America, how are you?
Sayin' 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.