i knew a man bojangles and he'd dance for you in worn out shoes
ragged shirt and baggy pants
then he lightly touch down?
dance. i met him in a cell in new orleans
he looked to me to be the eyes of age as he spoke right out
laughing slapped his leg stale
dance. he said the name bojangles and he danced a lick all across the cell
he grabbed his pants for a better stance
he jumped so high and he clicked up his heels
shook back his clothes all around
dance. he danced for those at minstrel shows and county fairs throughout the south
he spoke with tears of 15 years of how his dog and him but just travelled all about
and after 20 years he still grieves
i dance now at every chance at honky-tonks for drinks and tips. but most of the time i spend behind these county bars