Uptown's got its hustlers

The Bowry's got its bums

Forty-second street's got Big Jim Walker

He's a pool-shootin' son of a gun

Well 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 ...)

(They say ...)

CHORUS:

You don't tug on Superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask of the old Lone Ranger

And you don't mess around with Jim

(Ba-doo-da-doo-doo doo-doo-doo-doo doot)

Well out of South Alabama come a country boy

He said I'm lookin' for a man named Jim

I am a pool-shootin' boy, my name is Willie McCoy

But back home they call me Slim

He said I'm lookin' for the king of forty-second street

He's drivin' a drop-top Cadillac

And 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 know that...)

(CHORUS)

Well a hush fell over the pool room

When 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

He was cut in 'bout 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

(And now they say)

You don't tug on Superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask of the old Lone Ranger

And you don't mess around with Slim