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Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans |
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Way back up in the woods amongst the evergreens |
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There stood an old cabin made of earth and wood |
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Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode |
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That never ever learned to read and write so well |
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But he could play a guitar just like ringing a bell |
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Go go. Go Johnny go |
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Johnny B. Goode |
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He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack |
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Go sit beneath the tree by the railroad track |
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Old engineer sitting in the shade |
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Strumming with the rhythm that the drivers made |
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The people passing by would stop and say |
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"Oh my but how that little country boy could play" |
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Go go. Go Johnny go |
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Johnny B. Goode |
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His mother told him some day you will be a man |
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And you will be the leader of a big old band |
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Many people coming from miles around |
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To hear you play your music till the sun goes down |
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Maybe someday your name will be in lights, saying |
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Johnny B. Goode tonight |
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Go go. Go Johnny go |
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Johnny B. Goode |
