Mr. Bojangles
	I knew a man, Bojangles, and he'd dance for you -
	In worn out shoes,
	Silver hair, and ragged shirt and baggy pants -
	The old soft shoe.
	He jumped so high, he jumped so high,
	And then he'd lightly touch 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, and clicked his heels, and stepped.
	He said his name, Bojangles, and he danced a lick
	Across the cell.
	He grabbed his pants for a better stance...
	Oh, he jumped so high! Then he clicked his heels.
	He let go a laugh. He let go a laugh.
	Shook back his clothes all around.
	Mr. Bojangles...
	Mr. Bojangles...
	Mr. Bojangles...
	Dance!
	He danced for those in minstral shows and county fairs
	Throughout the south.
	He spoke with tears of fifteen years how his dog and him
	Traveled about.
	The dog up and died. He up and died.
	After twenty 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 shook his head, and as he shook his head,
	I heard someone ask him "Please, please ...
	Mr. Bojangles...
	Mr. Bojangles...
	Mr. Bojangles...
	Dance!"
	- J. J. Walker
	Photo: Bill "Bojangles" Robinson