| 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 a guitar just like a ringing 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 |
| Go sit beneath the tree by the railroad track |
| Oh, the engineers would see him sitting in the shade |
| Strumming with the rhythm that the drivers made |
| People passing by, they would stop and say |
| "Oh my, but 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 ol' band |
| Many people coming from miles around |
| To hear you play your music when the sun go down |
| Maybe someday your name will be in lights |
| Saying 'Johnny B. Goode Tonight'," |
|
| Go, go |
| Go, Johnny, go, go |
| Go, Johnny, go, go |
| Go, Johnny, go, go |
| Oh, go, Johnny, go, go |
| Go, Johnny B. Goode |