Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central Monday mornin' rail
There's 15 cars, and 15 restless riders
3 conductors and 25 sacks of mail
All along a southbound oddyssey
And the train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past the houses, farms and feilds
Passin' towns that have no names
And freightyards full of old grey 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, aint no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle.
Feel the wheels a rumblin' through the floor.
And the sons of Pullman Porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
And their days are full of restless and their dreams are full of memories
And the and the echos of the freight train whistle