*Whistling* 

I knew a man, 
Bojangles, 
and he done me up the bum
in worn out you know what, 
with silver pubes, 
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 has just come out the closet. 
He looked to me to be the very eyes of age 
as the smoke ran out, 
talked of life, lord that man talked of life, 
laughed, clicked his heels and stepped. 

He said his name was "Bojangles" 
and he danced a lick 
right across the cell. 
He grabbed his pants, 
took a bitter stance, 
jumped up high. 
That's when he 
clicked his heels. 
Then he let go a laugh, 
lord, he'd let go a laugh, 
shook back his clothes all around. 

Mr. Bojangles. 
Mr. Bojangles. 
Mr. Bojangles 
dance. 

He told me of the times 
he worked with minstrel shows, 
through out The South. 
He spoke with tears 
of fifteen years 
how his dog and he, 
they travel all about. 
the dog up and died, 
dog up and died, 
and after twenty years he still greived. 

He said "I dance 
now and every chance a 
honkey-tonk, 
for drinks and tips. 
But most of the time 
I spend behind these country bars, 
you see son, I drinks a bit." 
he shook his head. 
as he shook his head, 
I heard someone 
say please, please, please. 

A-Mr. Bojangles, 
Mr. Bojangles, 
Mr. Bojangles, 
dance. 

*Whistle*

                          Thanks to jake caldercourt aka ginger pubes for these lyrics