Jerry Jeff Walker ( - Mr. Bojangles

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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.

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles,
dance!

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
traveled about.
His dog up and died, dog up and died,
after twenty-years he still grieved.

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles,
dance!

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, I drink a bit.
He shook his head and as he shook his head
I heard someone ask, please

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles,
dance!

Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles,
dance!