Well, there's a country boy named Johnny B. Goode He's never ever gonna read or write so well But he can play a guitar just like a ring and a bell Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Johnny B. Goode He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack Go sit beneath the tree by the railroad track The engineers would see him shaking in the shade He'd struggle to the rhythm that the drivers made People pass him by, they would stop and say Oh, my, what that little country boy can play Goode, Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Johnny B. Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Goode, Johnny, Goode, Goode Johnny B. Goode He's never ever gonna read or write so well But he can play a guitar just like a ring and a bell Go sit beneath the tree by the railroad track The engineers would see him shaking in the shade He'd struggle to the rhythm that the drivers made Loving his Sunday and they would be in line Saying, Johnny B. Goode tonight Goode, goode, goode, goode Goode, Johnny, goode, goode Goode, Johnny, goode, goode Goode, Johnny, goode, goode Goode, Johnny, goode, goode Johnny B. Goode Goode tonight Goode, Johnny, goode, goode Goode, Johnny, goode, goode Goode, Johnny, goode, goode Goode, Johnny, goode, goode Yeah, Johnny B. Goode