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I knew a man Bojangles and he'd dance for you in worn out shoes |
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Silver hair, ragged shirt and baggy pants, that old soft shoe |
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He'd jump so high, he'd jump so high, then he lightly touch down? |
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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 me to be the eyes of age as he spoke right out |
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He talked of life, he talked of life, laughing slapped his leg stale |
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Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, dance. |
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He said the name Bojangles and he danced a lick all across the cell |
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He grabbed his pants for a better stance, oh, he jumped so high and he clicked up his heels |
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He let go laugh, he let go laugh, shook back his clothes all around |
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Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, dance, yeah, dance. |
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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 of how his dog and him but just travelled all about |
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His dog up and died, he up and died, and after 20 years he still grieves |
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Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, dance. |
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He said, "I dance now at every chance at honky-tonks for drinks and tips. |
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But most of the time I spend behind these county bars, 'cause I drinks a bit" |
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He shook his head, yes, he shook his head, I heard someone ask him, "Please, |
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Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, dance, dance, Mr. Bojangles, dance." |