Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans, Way back up on the woods among The evergreens. There stood an old cabin made Of earth and wood, Where lived a country boy named Johnny B Goode. Who´d never ever learned to read Or write so well, But he could play A guitar just like 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 gurny sack, Go sit beneath the tree by The railroad track. Old engineers in train sittin´ In the shade, Strummin´ with the rhythm that The drivers made. The people passed him by They would stop and say, Oh my 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, And you will be the leader Of a big old band. Many people comin´ from Miles around, To hear you play your music when The sun goes down. Maybe someday your name Will be in lights, Sayin´ "Johnny B Goode tonight". Go! Go! Go! Johnny! Go! Go! Go! Johnny! Go! Go! Go! Johnny! Go! Go! Go! Johnny! Go! Go! Johnny B. Goode!