Way

down

Lou-

i-

si-

a-

na

close

to

New

Or-

leans,

way

back

up

in

the

woods

a-

mong

the

e-

ver-

greens.

There

stood

a

log

ca-

bin

made

of

earth

and

wood,

where

lived

a

coun-

try

boy

named

John-

ny

B

Good.

He

ne-

ver

e-

ver

learned

to

read

and

write

so

well,

but

he

could

play

the

gui-

tar

just

like

the

rin-

gin'

a

bell.

Go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny

go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny

go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny

go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny

go,

go.

John-

ny

B

Good.

He

used

to

car-

ry

his

gui-

tar

in

a

gun-

ny

sack

and

sit

be-

neath

the

trees

by

the

rail-

road

track.

Oh,

en-

gi-

neers

would

see

him

sit-

ting

in

the

shade

pla-

ying

to

the

rhy-

thm

that

the

dri

-

vers

made.

Pe-

ople

pas-

sing

by

they

would

stop

and

say:

"Oh,

my

how

that

lit-

tle

coun-

try

boy

could

play."

Go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny

go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny

go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny

go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny

go,

go.

John-

ny

B

Good.

His

ma-

ma

told

him:

"Some-

day

you

will

be

a

man,

and

you

will

be

the

lea-

der

of

a

big

old

band.

Ma-

ny

peo-

ple

co-

ming

from

miles

a-

round

to

hear

you

play

your

mu-

sic

when

the

sun

go

down.

May-

be

some-

day

your

name

will

be

in

lights

sa-

yin'

John-

ny

B

Good

to-

night."

Go,

go.

Go,

John-

ny,

go.

Go,

go,

go,

John-

ny

go.

Oh,

go,

go,

John-

ny

go.

Oh,

go,

go,

John-

ny,

go.

Go.

John-

ny

B

Good.