MR. BOJANGLES



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 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, 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!



- Jerry Jeff Walker