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 an' wood,
Where lived a country 2 boy, named, Johnny B. Goode,
Who never, ever learned to read or write so well,
But he could play a guitar just like a-ringin' 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.
Oh, the engineer would see him sittin' in the shade, [bad word]  with the rhythm that the drivers made.

The people passin' by, they would stop an' 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 you will be a man,
An' you would be the leader of a big ol' 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.
Sayin', 'Johnny B. Goode tonight.'"

Go-go, go, Johnny, go.
Go, go, go, Johnny, go.
Go, go, go, Johnny, go.
Go, go, go, Johnny, go.
Go, Johnny B. Goode.