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Uptown's got its hustlers
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The Bowry's got its bums
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Forty-second street's got Big Jim Walker
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He's a pool-shootin' son of a gun
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Well he's big and dumb as a man can come
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But he's stronger than a country hoss
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And when the bad folks all get together at night
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You know they all call Big Jim "boss"
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(Just because ...)
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(They say ...)
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CHORUS:
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You don't tug on Superman's cape
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You don't spit into the wind
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You don't pull the mask of the old Lone Ranger
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And you don't mess around with Jim
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(Ba-doo-da-doo-doo doo-doo-doo-doo doot)
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Well out of South Alabama come a country boy
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He said I'm lookin' for a man named Jim
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I am a pool-shootin' boy, my name is Willie McCoy
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But back home they call me Slim
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He said I'm lookin' for the king of forty-second street
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He's drivin' a drop-top Cadillac
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And last week he took all my money, and it may sound funny
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But I come to get my money back
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(And everybody say, Jack -- don't you know that...)
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(CHORUS)
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Well a hush fell over the pool room
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When Jimmy come boppin' in off the street
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And when the cuttin' was done, the only part that wasn't bloody
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Was the soles of the big man's feet
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He was cut in 'bout a hundred places
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And he was shot in a couple more
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And you better believe they sung a different kind of story
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When Big Jim hit the floor
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(And now they say)
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You don't tug on Superman's cape
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You don't spit into the wind
|
You don't pull the mask of the old Lone Ranger
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And you don't mess around with Slim
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|
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-----------------
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You Dont Mess Around With Jim
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| Jim Croce |
