Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans,
Way back up in the woods among the evergreens,
There stood an log cabin made of earth and wood,
Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Good,
Who never ever learned to read or write so well,
But he could play a guitar just like a-ringing a bell.
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Go, go! Go, Johnny, go, go!
Go, Johnny, go, go!
Go, Johnny, go, go!
Go, Johnny, go, go!
Johnny B. Good!
He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack;
Go sit beneath the tree by the railroad track.
Oh the engineer would see him sitting in the shade;
Strumming with the rhythm that the drivers made.
The people passing by they would stop and say,
"Oh my, but that little country boy could play!"
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His mother told him, "Someday you will be a man,
And you will be the leader of a big old band.
Many people coming from miles around,
To hear you play your music when the sun goes down.
Maybe some day your name will be in lights,
Singin' 'Johnny B. Good Tonight'!"
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