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