Well, I'm riding 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
And rolls along
Past houses farms and fields
Passing 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?
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