Deep down in Lou'siana, close to New Orleans,
Way back up in the woods among the ever greens;
There stood an old cabin made of earth and wood,
Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode.
Who`d never ever learned to read or write so well,
But he could play a guitar just like aringin' a bell.

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;
Ol` engineer in the train sittin` in the shade, [bad word]  with the rhythm that the drivers made
The people passin` by they would stop and say.
Oh my, but that little country boy could play.

GO! GO! GO! Johnny!
GO! GO! GO! Johnny!
GO! GO! GO! Johnny!
GO! GO! GO! Johnny!
GO! GO! Johnny B. Goode.

His mother told him, "Someday yoi will be a man
And yoi will be the leader of a big old band;
Many [bad word]  from miles around,
To hear you play your music till the sun goes down.
Maybe some day your name'll be in lights
Asayin' Johnny B. Goode tonight."

GO! GO! GO! Johnny!
GO! GO! GO! Johnny!
GO! GO! GO! GO! Johnny!
GO! GO! GO! GO! Johnny!
GO! GO! Johnny B. Goode.