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 a guitar just like ringing a bell.

 [bad word] ]
Go Go
Go Johnny Go
Go Go
Johnny B. Goode

He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack
Or sit beneath the tree by the railroad track.
Oh, the engineers would see him sitting in the shade,
 [bad word] with the rhythm that the drivers made.
The People passing 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,
And you would be the leader of a big old band.
Many [bad word] from miles around
To hear you play your music when the sun go down
Maybe someday your name will be in lights
Saying Johnny B. Goode tonight.