Lyrics:

Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors, 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 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 five hundred 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
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 five hundred miles when the day is done

Night time on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Half way home, we'll be there by mornin'
Through 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 five hundred miles when the day is done