LYRICS
I knew a man named Bojangles
and he danced for you
in worn out shoes.
Silver hair, a ragged shirt,
and baggy pants;
the old soft shoe.
He jumped so high.
He jumped so high.
Then, he lightly touched down.
Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles,
Mr. Bojangles, dance.
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.
Oh, he talked of life.
He laughed and
clicked his heels and stepped.
Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles,
Mr. Bojangles, dance.
He said, "My name's Bojangles
and he danced a lick
across the cell.
He grabbed his pants
a better stance
and jumbed up high.
Then, he clicked his heels.
He let go a laugh.
Oh, he let go a laugh.
Shook back 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 with tears
of fifteen years
how is dog and him
traveled about.
His dog up and died.
Oh, he up and died.
After twenty years,
he still grieves.
Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles,
Mr. Bojangles, dance.
He said, "I dance now at every chance
at honky tonks
for drinks and tips.
But, most the time,
I spend behind
these county bars,
'cause I drinks a bit."
He shook his head.
Oh, he shook his head.
I heard someone ask, please:
Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles,
Mr. Bojangles, dance.
mp3 Copy of Studio Recording
If your computer won't play it on this page,
then try the link below.
[mp3 Copy of Studio Recording]
Frank McKinnon:
Vocals
Guitar
Bass Guitar
Percussion
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