Back in the class room, open your books, keep up, the teacher don't know how mean she looks.

Music is music; you can't change rock and say well this is punk rock and this is acid rock or rockabilly.

This is my 1963 Ford. It was the only car I could A-Ford.

When I was a kid I used to scoot under the table, and whenever company would come around you know or my sisters or parents would tell me, go under the table and I'd do it because it was entertainment for the family or aunts or whatever. And one time at the Paramount when I first did it, you know, Brooklyn Paramount, I did it in the act during an instrumental and it got a big ovation and so I coined it as one of the things I should do in the act. And since I've been doing it.

Praise doesn't mean anything to me. I don't judge myself.

There have been so many empires, kings are kinda going out of style.

The gateway to freedom...was somewhere close to New Orleans where most Africans were sorted through and sold. I had driven through New Orleans on tour and I'd been told my great grandfather had lived way back up in the woods among the evergreens in a log cabin. I revived the era with a song about a coloured boy named Johnny B. Goode. My first thought was to make his life follow as my own had come along, but I thought it would seem biased to white fans to say 'coloured boy' and changed it to 'country boy'.