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Way down Louisiana close to New Orleans, |
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Way back up in the woods among the evergreens... |
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There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood, |
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Where lived a country boy name of Johnny B. Goode... |
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He never ever learned to read or write so well, |
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But he could play the guitar like ringing a bell. |
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Go Go |
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Go Johnny Go |
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Go Go |
[00:39.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[00:40.000] |
Go Go |
[00:41.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[00:42.000] |
Go Go |
[00:44.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[00:45.000] |
Go Go |
[00:48.000] |
Johnny B. Goode |
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He use to carry his guitar in a gunny sack |
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And sit beneath the trees by the railroad track. |
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Oh, the engineers used to see him sitting in the shade, |
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Playing to the rhythm that the drivers made. |
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People passing by would stop and say |
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Oh my that little country boy could play |
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Go Go |
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Go Johnny Go |
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Go Go |
[01:12.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[01:13.000] |
Go Go |
[01:15.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[01:17.000] |
Go Go |
[01:19.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[01:20.000] |
Go Go |
[01:22.000] |
Johnny B. Goode |
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His mama told him someday he would be a man, |
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And he would be the leader of a big old band. |
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Many people coming from miles around |
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To hear him play his music when the sun go down |
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Maybe someday his name would be in lights |
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Saying Johnny B. Goode tonight. |
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Go Go |
[02:18.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[02:19.000] |
Go Go |
[02:21.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[02:22.000] |
Go Go |
[02:23.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[02:24.000] |
Go Go |
[02:25.000] |
Go Johnny Go |
[02:26.000] |
Go Go |
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Go Go |
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