| A | |
| Deep | down in Louisiana, close to New Orleans, |
| A | |
| Way back up in the woods among the evergreens, |
| D | |
| There | stood a log cabin made of earth and wood |
| A | |
| Where | lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode |
| E | |
| Who | never ever learned to read or write so well, |
| A | |
| But he could | play the guitar just like a ringin' a bell. |
| A | |
| Go! Go! Go, Johnny, go! Go! |
| D | |
| Go, Johnny, go! | Go! |
| A | |
| Go, Johnny, go! Go! |
| E | |
| 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. |
| Old engineers would see him sittin' in the shade, |
| Strummin' with the rhythm that the drivers made. |
| When people passed him by they would stop and say, |
| 'oh, my but that little country boy could play' |
| His mother told him, 'someday you will be a man, |
| You will be the leader of a big ol' band. |
| Many people comin' from miles around |
| Will hear you play your music when the sun go down. |
| Maybe someday your name'll be in lights, |
| Sayin' 'Johnny B. Goode tonight'' |