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Deep down in Jamaica close to Mandeville |
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Back up in the woods on top of a hill |
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There stood an old hut made of earth and wood |
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Where lived a country boy named Johnny B Goode |
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He never learned to read and a write so well |
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But he could play his guitar like ringing a bell yell |
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CHORUS (we all know this) |
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He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack |
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Sitting in a tree in the railroad track |
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Old engineer in the train sitting in the shade |
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Strummin' with the rhythm that them drivers made |
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People passing by would stop and say |
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Oh my oh my what the boy can play |
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CHORUS |
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Mama said son you gotta be a man |
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You gotta be the leader of a reggae band |
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People coming in from miles around |
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To hear you play until the sun goes down |
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Boy someday your name will be in the lights |
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Saying Johnny B Goode tonight |
