| I knew a man Bojangles
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| And he’d dance for you in worn out shoes
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| Silver hair, a ragged shirt
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| And baggy pants, the old soft shoe
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| He jumped so high
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| Jumped so high
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| He’d lightly touch down
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| Mr. Bojangles
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| Mr. Bojangles
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| Mr. Bojangles, dance
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| I met him in a park in New Orleans
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| I was down and out
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| He looked to me to be the eyes of age
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| And he spoke right out
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| He talked of life
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| He talked of life
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| He laugh-slapped his leg a step
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| He said my name’s Bojangles
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| And he danced a lick across the grass
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| He grabbed his pants a better stance
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| He jumped so high, clicked his heels
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| He let go a laugh
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| He let go a laugh
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| Shook back his clothes all around
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| Mr. Bojangles
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| Mr. Bojangles
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| Mr. Bojangles, dance
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| He’s danced for those at minstrel shows
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| And county fairs throughout the South
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| He spoke with tears of fifteen years
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| How his dog and him traveled about
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| His dog up and died
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| He up and died
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| After twenty years he still grieves
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| He said «I dance every chance in honky-tonks
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| For drinks and tips
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| But most of time I spend behind some gentle spars
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| 'Cause I drink a bit
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| He shook his head
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| He shook his head
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| Heard somebody ask him, «Please»
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| Mr. Bojangles
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| Hey, Mr. Bojangles
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| They shouted «Mr. |
| Bojangles, dance!»
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| Hey, Mr. Bojangles
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| Everybody shouted «Mr. |
| Bojangles
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| Hey, Mr. Bojangles, dance!» |