Deep down in Louisiana, close to New Orleans, way back up in the woods, among the evergreens. There stand a country cabin, made of tar and wood, where lives a country boy named Johnny B. Goode. He never learned to read or write a book so well. He could play his guitar just like a-ringing the 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, strumming to the rhythm that the drivers made People passing by used to stop and say: "My, but how that country boy could 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 Ooh 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 someday, your name will be in lights 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 Johnny B. Goode