Riding on the city of New Orleans Illinois Central Monday morning rail There are fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail
There all out on this southbound odyssey And the train pulls out of Kankakee Rolls past the houses, farms and fields Passin' towns that have no names And freight yards full of old black men And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
Singin' "good morning America, how are ya?" Saying "don't ya know me? I'm your native son" Yes, I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans And I'll be gone 500 miles when day is done