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 and wood
Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode
Who never ever learned to read or write so well,
But he could play the 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,
Old engineers would see him sittin' in the shade,
Strummin' with the rhythm that the drivers made.
