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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.
I met him in a cell in New Orleans, I was
so down and out.
He looked at me to be the eyes of age,
as he spoke right out.
He talked of life, he talked of life. He laughed, clicked heels instead.
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
His dog up and died, dog up and died, after twentyyears he still grieved.
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, you see son I drinks a bit.
He shook his head and as he shook his head I heard someone ask, please please
Thats Mister Bojangles
dance dance dance,
- Jerry Jeff Walker
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