The City of New Orleans

Riding on the City of New Orleans
 Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
 15 cars and 15 restless riders
 Three conductors, 25 sacks of mail
 All along the southbound odyssey
 The train pulls out of Kankakee
 Rolls along past houses, farms, and fields
 Passing trains that have no name
 An' freight yards full of old black men
 And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
 Good morning, America, how are ya?
 Said 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
 Dealing card games with the old men in the club car
 Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score
 Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
 Feel the wheels rumbling '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
 Are rockin' to the gentle beat
 And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
 Good morning, America, how are ya?
 Said 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
 Nighttime on the City of New Orleans
 Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
 Halfway 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 rail still ain't heard the news
 The conductor sings his songs again
 The passengers will please refrain
 This train got the disappearing railroad blues
 Good night, America, how are you?
 Said 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