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!