English for Activists

Johnny B. Goode, by Chuck Berry

Deep down in Louisianna
close to New Orleans,
way back up in the woods
among the evergreens,
there stood a log cabin
made of earth and wood,
where lived a country boy
named Johnny B.Goode,
who never ever learned
to read or write so well,
but he could play his guitar
just like a-ringing a bell.

Go go, go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Whoa Johnny B. Goode!

He used to carry his guitar
in a gunny sack,
sit beneath the trees
by the railroad track.
Oh the engineer would see him sitting
in the shade,
strumming with the rhythm
that the drivers made.
People passing by
they would stop and say:
oh my,
but that little country boy can play.

Go go, go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Whoa Johnny B.Goode!

You know his mother told him:
someday you will be a man.
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 go down.
Maybe some day
your name will be in lights,
saying: Johnny B. Goode tonight!

Go go, go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Go Johnny go go!
Whoa Johnny B.Goode!