Deep down in Louisianna close to New Orleans, way back up in the woods among the evergreens, there stand a country cabin made of clay and wood, where lives a young country boy named Johnny B.Goode, he never ever learned to read or write a book so well, but he could play his guitar just like a-ringing a bell.
Go go, go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! aah Johnny B.Goode!
He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack, sit beneath the trees by the railroad track. Oh sitting and a-playing in the shade, drumming to the rhythm that the drivers made. People passing by used to stop and say: my oh my, that country boy can play.
Go go, go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! Aah Johnny B.Goode!
Well his mama told him: someday you will be a man. And you will be the leader of a big old band. Many people coming from miles around, to hear you play your music till the sun goes down. Maybe some day your name will be in light, saying: Johnny B. Goode tonight!
Go go, go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! Go Johnny go go go! aah Johnny B.Goode!
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