Ridin' on the, "City of New Orleans"Illinois Central, Monday mornin' railFifteen cars and fifteen, restless ridersThree conductors, and twenty-five sacks, of mailAll along, the south-bound odysseyThe train pulls out, at KankakeeAnd rolls along, past houses, farms and fieldsPassin' trains, that have no namesAnd freight yards, full of old, black menGrave-yards, of the rusted automobilesGood mornin' America! How are you?Say, don't you know me, I'm your native sonI'm the train, they call, the "City of New Orleans"And I'll be gone, five-hundred miles, when the day is doneDealin' cards, with the old men, in the club carPenny a point, ain't no one, keepin' scorePass the paper bag, that holds the bottleFeel the wheels grumbling', 'neath the floorAnd the sons, of Pullman porters, and the sons, of engineersRide their father's magic carpet, made of steelMothers, with their babies asleep, rockin', to the gentle beatAnd the rhythm, of the rails, is all they feelGood mornin' America! How are you?Say, don't you know me, I'm your native sonI'm the train, they call the "City of New Orleans"I'll be gone, five-hundred miles, when the day is doneNight time, on the "City of New Orleans"Changin' cars, in Memphis, TennesseeHalfway home, we'll be there, by mornin'Through the Mississippi darkness, rolling down, to the seaBut all the towns, and people, seem to fade, into a bad dreamAnd the steel rails, still, ain't heard the newsThe conductor sings, his songs againThe passengers, will please, refrainThis train, has got the disappearin' railroad bluesGood mornin' America! How are you?Say, don't you know me, I'm your native sonI'm the train, they call the "City of New Orleans"I'll be gone five-hundred miles, when the day is doneHappy birthday, Willie!We love ya!
