Uptown got its hustlers
The Bowery got its bums
42nd street got big Jim Walker
He's a pool-shooting son of a gun
Yeah, he's big and dumb as a man can come
But he's 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 say, I'm looking for a man named Jim
I am a pool-shooting boy
My name is Willie McCoy
But down home they call me Slim
Yeah, I'm looking for the king of 42nd street
He's driving 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, oh, don't you know
And 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
Jimmy come bopping in off the street
And when the cutting were done
The only part that wasn't bloody
Was the soles of the big man's feet
Yeah, he were cut in 'bout a hundred places
And he were shot in a couple more
And you better believe
They sung a different kind of story
When big Jim hit the floor
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 not hustling people strange to you
Yeah, 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
