Maybelline, why can't you be true? Oh, Maybelline, why can't you be true?You done started back doin' the things you used to do.
Then for a moment the stroboscopic lights catch his pulsating body, freezing it in uplifted emotion. Harder and harder it works, trying to break the bondage of light.
Just let me hear some of the rock'n roll music, Any old way you choose it;It's got a back-beat you can't lose it, Any old time you use it; It's gotta be rock'n roll music, If you wanna dance with me.
The hippies stand up and move to the stage. He has them now--but he is no longer there. He stares wide-eyed into the red spotlight and, reaching up, flicks it dumbly on and off, on and off.
Sometimes I will, then again I think I won't. Sometimes I will, then again I think I won't. Sometimes I do, then again I think I don't...I looked at my watch and it was quarter to five; We were rollin' like a Mustang on a four-day drive. Reelin' and a-rockin', rollin' 'till the break of day....
While his mind is somewhere else, his hands are not. His hands, his hands, look at his hands. Old hands, as old as his face. His left hand stiffly fingers the notes, his right hand bangs out the beat on the side of the guitar. Occasionally it slides down to whang out a chord.
Sweet Little Sixteen, she's just got to have 'Bout half a million framed autographs. Her wallet's filled with pictures, She get's 'em one by one,Becomes so excited, Watch her, look at her run....
In the background, pulsating egg yokes and mustard stains move about in the gloom. Berry jiggles the guitar on his hip and wades into the microphone. An epitaph flashes onto his ancient face, "Pyrex--Made in U.S.A."
Deep down in Louisiana 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 Johhny B. Goode, Who never learned to read and write so well, But who could play a guitar just like a ringin' a bell. Go, go, go, Johnny, go....
Berry crouches over his guitar and, spread-eagle, machine-guns the audience. The blonde's head is bobbing, now--a convert. No one is dancing--you can listen to this.
People passin' by, they would stop and say, Oh my, but that little country boy could play....
He stands firmly beneath the fierce red light, tip-toes up to reach the high notes. Perspiration streams down his face. Suddenly he drops into the famous Chuck Berry walk. Knees spread, guitar slung at his ankles, he hops across the stage on his right leg--left leg flailing, head bobbing. The audience that wouldn't be caught dead with his records roars in his face.
His mother told him someday you will be a man, And you will be the leader of a big 'roll band; Many people comin' from miles around To hear you play music when the sun goes down. Maybe someday your name will be in lights, Sayin' Johhny B. Goode tonight.
Finally his head drops, his legs go limp, his guitar pick falls at his side-- and he sings School Days, slurring over parts that he has forgotten.
Hail, hail, rock'n roll, Remember me from the days of old; Long live rock 'n roll, The beat of the drumst is loud and bold. Rock, rock, rock 'n roll,The feeling is there, body and soul....