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Mr Bojangles

I knew a man, Bojangles, and
he danced for you
in worn out shoes.

With silver hair,
a ragged shirt
and baggy pants,

the old soft shoe.

He jumped so high,
jumped so high,
then he lightly touched down.

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles

Mister Bojangles, dance!

I met him in a cell
in New Orleans,
I was down and out.

He looked at me to be
the eyes of age,
as he spoke right out.

He talked of life,
talked of life.
He laughed,

slapped his leg a step.

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles, dance!

He said his name, Bojangles
Then he danced a lick
across the cell.

He grabbed his pants
a better stance,
Oh, he jumped up high,

He clicked his heels,
He let go a laugh,
Let go a laugh,

Shook back his clothes
all around.

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles, dance!

He danced for those at minstrel
shows and county fairs
throughout the South.

He spoke with tears of fifteen
years how his dog and he
traveled about.

His dog up and died,
He up and died,
after twenty years he

still grieved.

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles,
dance!

He said, I dance now at
every chance in honky tonks
for drinks and tips.

But most of the time I spend
behind these county bars.
He said, I drink a bit.

He shook his head
and as he shook his head
I heard someone ask, please

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles, dance!