(whistling)
I knew a man Bojangles and, he danced for you in worn out shoes.
With silver hair, a ragged shirt, and baggy pants

He would do the old soft shoe.
He could jump so high, jump so high
and then he'd lightly touch down.

I met him in a cell, in New Orleans I was.
Well I was down and out.
He looked to me to be the very eyes of age as he spoke right out.

Talked of life, lord he talked of life hahaha
Laughed, slapped his leg and stepped
He said his name was Bojangles, then he danced a lick right across the

cell.
He grabbed his pants, took a better stance, jumped up high.
That's when he clicked his heels.

Then he let go a laugh, lord, he let go a laugh haha
Shook back his clothes all around.
That was Mr. Bojangles.

Mr. Bojangles
Mr. Bojangles.
Lord, he could dance.

He told me of the times he worked for minstrel shows, traveling
throughout the south.
He spoke with tears of 15 years, how his dog and he, they just traveled

about.
Then his dog up and died, dog up and died.
And after 20 years he still grieved.

He said I dance now at every chance in honky tonks for my drinks and
tips, but most the time I spend behind these county bars.
You see son I drinks a bit.

Then he shook his head, lord, when he shook his head, I could swear I
heard someone say please.
Mr. Bojangles.

Mr. Bojangles.
Mr. Bojangles, come back and dance, dance, dance please dance.
Mr. Bojangles.

Mr. Bojangles.
Mr. Bojangles, dance.
Why can't you come back and dance, please Bojangles?

Mmm dance again Bojangles.
(whistling)