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Deep down in Louisiana, close to New Orleans, |
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way back up in the woods, among the evergreens. |
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There stand a country cabin, made of tar and wood, |
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where lives a country boy named Johnny B. Goode. |
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He never learned to read or write a book so well. |
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He could play his guitar just |
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like a-ringing the bell. |
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Go, go, go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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aah - Johnny B. Goode |
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|
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He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack. |
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Sit beneath the trees by the railroad track. |
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Oh, sitting and a-playing in the shade, |
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strumming to the rhythm that the drivers made |
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People passing by used to stop and say: |
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"My, but how that country boy could play" |
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Go, go, go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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aah - Johnny B. Goode |
| [01:31.64] |
|
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Well, his mama told him, |
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"Someday, 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 |
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saying: 'Johnny B. Goode tonight' " |
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|
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Go, go, go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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Go, Johnny, go, go, go |
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|
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aah - Johnny B. Goode |
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|