deep down in louisiana, close to new orleans,
way back up in the woods among the evergreens,
there stood a log cabin made of earth and wood
where lived a country boy named johnny b. goode
who never ever learned to read or write so well,
but he could play the guitar just like a ringin' a bell. [bad word] 
go! go! go, johnny, go! go!
go, johnny, go! go!
go, johnny, go! go!
go, johnny, go! go! johnny b. goode
he used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack,
go sit beneath the tree by the railroad track.
old engineers would see him sittin' in the shade, [bad word]  with the rhythm that the drivers made.
when people passed him by they would stop and say,
'oh, my but that little country boy could play' [bad word] his mother told him, 'someday you will be a man,
you will be the leader of a big ol' band.
many [bad word]  from miles around
will hear you play your music when the sun go down.
maybe someday your name'll be in lights,
sayin' 'johnny b. goode tonight''