I knew a man,
Bojangles,
and he'd dance for you
in worn out shoes,
with silver hair,
a ragged shirt,
and baggy pants
the old soft shoe
jump so high,
jump so high,
then he'd lightly touch down

I met him in a cell
in New Orleans,
I was down and out
He looked to me to be the very eyes of age
as he spoke right out,
talked of life, talked of life,
laughed, slapped his leg and stepped

He said the name "Bojangles"
and he danced a lick
across the cell
grabbed his pants,
a better stance,
and wow he jumped up high
clicked his heels
he let go a laugh,
let go a laugh,
shook back his clothes all around

Mr Bojangles
Mr Bojangles
Mr Bojangles
dance

he danced with those at minstrel
shows & county fairs,
throughout The South
He spoke with tears
of fifteen years
of how his dog and him,
had traveled about
his dog up and died,
he up and died,
after twenty years he still greives

He said "I dance
now and every chance at
honkey-tonks,
for drinks and tips
But most of time
I spend behind these country bars,
cause I drinks a bit"

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

Mr Bojangles
Mr Bojangles
Mr Bojangles
dance,