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Mr Bojangles |
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Harry Belafonte |
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Oh I knew a man, Bojangles and he danced for you |
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In worn out shoes |
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With silver hair and ragged shirt and baggy pants |
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The old soft shoe |
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He jumped so high, he jumped so high |
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Then he lightly touch down |
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Mr. Bojangles, Mr Bojangles |
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Mr Bojangles dance |
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I met him in a cell in New Orleans |
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I was down and out |
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He looked to me to be the eyes of age |
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As he spoke right out |
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He talked of life, he talked of life |
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He laughed slapped his leg a step |
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He spoke the name Bojangles then he danced a lick |
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Across the cell |
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He grabbed his pants, a better stance |
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Oh he jumped so high, he clicked his heels |
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He let go a laugh, He let go a laugh |
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Shook back his clothes all around |
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Mr Bojangles, Mr Bojangles |
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Mr Bojangles dance |
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He danced for those at minstrel shows and county fairs |
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Throughout the south |
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He spoke with tears of fifteen years how his dog and him |
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Traveled about |
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His dog up and died, His dog up and died |
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After 20 years he still grieves |
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He said I dance now at every chance in Honky tonks |
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For drinks and tips |
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But most the time I spend behind these county bars |
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Cause I drinks a bit |
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He shook his head |
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And as he shook his head |
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I heard someone ask please |
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Mr Bojangles, Mr Bojangles |
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Mr Bojangles oh dance |
