Ridin' on the City of New Orleans Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail 15 cars & 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 & fields Passin' graves that have no name, freight yards full of old black men And the graveyards of rusted automobiles Good mornin' America, how are you? 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