Uptown got its hustlers, the Bowery got its bums
Forty-Second Street got Big Jim Walker
He a pool-shootin' son of a gun
Yeah, he big and dumb as a man can come
But he stronger than a country hoss
And when the bad folks all get together at night
You know they all call Big Jim Boss, just because
And they say
You don't tug on Superman's cape
You don't spit into the wind
You don't pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger
And you don't mess around with Jim
Well outta south Alabama come a country boy
He said: I'm lookin' for a man named Jim
I am a pool-shootin' boy, my name's Willie McCoy
But down at home they call me Slim
Yeah, I'm lookin' for the king of Forty-Second Street, he drivin' a drop top Cadillac
Last week he took all my money, and it may sound funny
But I come to get my money back
And everybody say: Jack, don't you!
You don't tug on Superman's cape
You don't spit into the wind
You don't pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger
And you don't mess around with Jim
Well, a hush fell over the pool room
And Jimmy come boppin' in off the street
And when the cuttin' was done, the only part that wasn't bloody
Was the soles of the big man's feet, ooh
And he was cut in about a hundred places
And he was shot in a couple more
And you better believe, they sung a different kind of story
When Big Jim hit the floor, ooh
Now they say
You don't tug on Superman's cape
You don't spit into the wind
You don't pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger
And you don't mess around with Slim
Yeah, Big Jim got his hat
Find out where it's at, and it's not hustlin' people strange to you
Even if you do got a two-piece custom-made pool cue
Yeah, you don't tug on Superman's cape
You don't spit into the wind
You don't pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger
And you don't mess around with Slim
