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I knew a man Bojangles and he danced for you in worn out shoes |
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With silver hair, a ragged shirt and baggy pants, the old soft shoe |
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He jumped so high, he jumped so high, then he lightly touched down |
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Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, dance! |
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I met him in a cell in New Orleans, I was - down and out |
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He looked to be the eyes of age as spoke right out |
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He talked of life, he talked of life, he laughed, slapped his leg a step |
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He said his name, Bojangles, then he danced a lick across the cell |
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He grabbed a chair like Fred Astaire, then he jumped up high, he clicked his |
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heels |
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He let go a laugh, he let go a laugh, shook back his clothes all around |
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He danced for those at minstrel shows and county fairs throughout the south |
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He spoke with tears of 15 years how his dog & he traveled about |
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His dog up and died, up and died, after 20 years he still grieved |
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He said 'I dance now at ev'ry chance in honky tonks for drinks and tips |
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But most of the time I spend behind these county bars' |
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he said 'I drinks a bit' |
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He shook his head and as he shook his head I heard someone ask 'Please?' |
