Drake, Here is my version of the lyrics. I took what I thought was best from the many versions I looked at. Fred
I knew a man, Bojangles, who would dance for you, in worn out shoes.
With silver hair and ragged shirt and baggy pants, the old "soft shoe".
He jumped so high, jumped so high, then he'd lightly touch down.
I met him in a cell in New Orleans. I was so down and out.
He looked to me to to be the the of eyes of age, he spoke right out.
He talked of life, talked of life, laughed, clicked clicked his heels and stepped.
He said his name, Bojangles, and he danced a lick across the cell.
He grabbed his pants with feathered stance he jumped so high and clicked his heels.
He let go a laugh, let go a laugh, shook his clothes all around.
Mister Bojangles, Mister Bojangles, Mister Bojangles danced.
He danced for those at minstrel shows and county fairs throughout the South.
He spoke through tears of fifteen years how his dog and him travelled about.
The dog up and died, up and died; after twenty years he still grieves.
He does a dance at every chance in honkytonks for drinks and tips.
But most the time he spends behind these county bars: "I drinks a bit."
He shook his head, shook his head. I heard someone cry: "Please, please.
Mister Bojangles, Mister Bojangles, Mister Bojangles: dance."