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 pulled 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 graveyards 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' 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 father's magic carpet made of steel Mothers with their babes asleep Are rockin' to the gentle beat And the rhythm of the rail 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 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 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