Deep down in Louisianna 

close to New Orleans, 

way back up in the woods 

among the evergreens, 

there stand a country cabin 

made of clay and wood, 

where lives a young country boy 

named Johnny B.Goode, 

he never ever learned 

to read or write a book so well, 

but he could play his guitar 

just like a-ringing a bell. 



Go go, go Johnny go go go! 

Go Johnny go go go! 

Go Johnny go go go! 

Go Johnny go go go! 

aah Johnny B.Goode! 



He used to carry his guitar 

in a gunny sack, 

sit beneath the trees 

by the railroad track. 

Oh sitting and a-playing 

in the shade, 

drumming to the rhythm 

that the drivers made. 

People passing by 

used to stop and say: 

my oh my, 

that country boy can play. 



Go go, go Johnny go go go! 

Go Johnny go go go! 

Go Johnny go go go! 

Go Johnny go go go! 

Aah Johnny B.Goode! 



Well his mama told him: 

someday you will be a man. 

And you will be the leader 

of a big old band. 

Many people coming 

from miles around, 

to hear you play your music 

till the sun goes down. 

Maybe some day 

your name will be in light, 

saying: 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 go! 

aah Johnny B.Goode!