Ridin' on the City of New Orleans 
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail 
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders 
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail
 
All along the south-bound 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 grave-yards 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 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 grumblin' '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 five-hundred miles 
when the day is done 

Night time on the City of New Orleans 
changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee 
Halfway home, we'll be there by mornin' 
thru 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 disappearin' railroad blues. 

Good night 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 five-hundred miles 
when the day is done