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Nina Simone |
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Miscellaneous |
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Mr. Bojangles |
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I knew a man Bojangles |
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And he danced for you |
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In worn out shoes |
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With silver hair, a ragged shirt |
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And baggy pants, the old soft shoe |
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He jumped so high, he jumped so high |
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Then he lightly touched down |
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I met him in a cell in New Orleans |
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I was down and out |
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He looked at me to be the eyes of age |
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As he spoke right out |
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He talked of life, he talked of life |
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He laughed, slapped his leg a step |
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He said his name, Bojangles |
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And he danced a lick across the cell |
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He grabbed his pants |
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in fettered stance |
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Oh, he jumped up high |
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Then he clicked his heels |
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He let go a laugh, he let go a laugh |
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Shook back his clothes all around |
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Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles |
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Mr. Bojangles, dance! |
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He danced for those |
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At minstrel shows and county fairs |
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Throughout the south |
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He spoke with tears of 15 years |
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How his dog and him traveled about |
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His dog up and died, he up and died |
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After 20 years he still grieves |
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He said I dance now |
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At every chance in honky tonks |
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For drink and tips |
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But most of the time |
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I spend behind these county bars |
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Cause I drinks a bit |
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He shook his head |
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And as he shook his head |
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I heard someone ask him |
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Please, please |
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Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles |
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Mr. Bojangles, dance! |
