Well I'm ridin’ on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey the train rolls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses farms and fields
Passin' cars that have no names switchyards full of old black men
And graveyards full of rusty old automobiles

Well 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

Well good morning America how are you...