Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
Fifteen cars, and 15 restless riders
Three conductors and 25 sacks of mail

All along the southbound odyssey
And the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no names
And freight yards full of old black 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.

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 a rumblin' 'neath the floor.

And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
And mothers with their fantasies, a rockin' to the gentle breeze
And the rythym of the rail is all they feel

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 they day is done.

But its twilight on the City of New Orleans.
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennesee
Half way home, and we'll be there by mornin'
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 hius song again
The passengers will please refrain
This train has got the disapearing blues

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.

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.

[Chorus]
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.

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 carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

[Chorus]

Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And 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 song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train has got the disappearing railroad blues.

[Chorus]

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

On the southbound odyssey
The train goes out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no name
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyard 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

Playin' cards with the old men in the club car
A penny a point ain't no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels rumblin' beneath 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
Rocking to the gentle beat
The rhythm of the rails is all they dream

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

Nighttime on The City of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Half way home, and we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea

And all the towns and people seem
To change into a bad dream
The steel rails still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again
Passengers will please refrain
This train's got to disappear in railroad blues

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

I'll be gone a million miles when the race is run

I'll be gooooOOOOOne

Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
15 cars and 15 restless riders
Three conductors, 25 sacks of mail

All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no name, freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles

Good mornin' 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 500 miles when the day is done

Dealin' card 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 fathers' magic carpets made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

Good mornin' 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 500 miles when the day is done.

Nighttime 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 rail still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again
The passengers will please refrain:
This train 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 500 miles when the day is done.