I knew a man, Bojangles and he’d dance for you
In worn out shoes.
With silver hair and ragged shirt and baggy pants,
He did the old soft shoe.
He jumped so high, he jumped so high
And then he lightly touched down.

I met him in a cell in New Orleans I was – down and out.
He looked to me to be the eyes of age
As he spoke right out.
He talked of life, he talked of life, he laughed, clicked his heels and stepped.

He said his name “Bojangles” and he danced a lick,
across the cell
He grabbed his pants and spread his stance,
Oh he jumped so high
and then he clicked his heels
He let go a laugh, let go a laugh,
sback his clothes all around

Mr. Bojangles. Mr. Bojangles.
Mr. Bojangles, Dance

He danced for those at minstrel shows and county fairs
throughout the south
He spoke through tears of 15 years how his dog and him
they traveled about.
Well the dog up and died, he up and died.
And after 20 years he still grieves.

He said I dance now at every chance in honky tonks
for drinks and tips
But most the time I spend behind these county bars
’cause I drinks a bit
He shis head, and as he shis head
I heard someone ask him please, pleeease.
Mr. Bojangles. Mr. Bojangles.
Mr. Bojangles, won’t you Dance.
I knew a man, Bojangles and he danced for you.