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 of Kankakee

And rolls along past houses farms and fields

Passing trains that have no name and freight yards full of old Black men

And the graveyards full of 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

Dealing cards with the old man in the club car

Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score

Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle

Feel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers

Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel

Mothers with their babes asleep, rocking 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

Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee

Halfway home, we'll be there by morning

Through the Mississippi darkness rolling 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 disappearing railroad blues

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