knew a man called Django Zane,
In worn out shoes with silver hair,
He would do the old soft shoe
I met him in a cell in New Orleans
He looked to me to be the very
As he spoke right out, talked of life, Lord he talked of life,
laughed, slapped his leg a step
He said his name was Bojangles
That's when he clicked his heels
he worked for minstrel shows
Travelling throughout the South
He spoke with tears of fifteen years
But most the time I spend
Lord, when he shook his head,
I heard someone say please.
Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles,
Mr. Bojangles, come back and dance,
dance, dance, please dance