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