Lyrics You Don't Mess Around with Jim - Jim Croce

You Don't Mess Around with Jim

Uptown got its hustlers
Bowery got its bums
42nd Street got big Jim Walker
He’s a pool-shootin' son of a gun
Yea 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…
(CHORUS)
You don’t tug on Superman’s cape
You don’t spit into the wind
You don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger
And you don’t mess around with Jim
Well outa south Alabama come a country boy
He say I’m lookin' for a man named Jim
I am a pool shootin' boy
My name Willie McCoy
But down home they call me Slim
Yea I’m lookin for the king of 42nd 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 know that
(REPEAT CHORUS)
Well a hush fell over the pool room
Jimmy come boppin' in off the street
And when the cuttin' were done
The only part that wasn’t bloody
Was the soles of the big man’s feet
Yea he were cut in 'bout a hundred places
And he were shot in a couple more
And you better believe
They sung a diffrent kind of story
When big Jim hit the floor… now they say
(REPEAT CHORUS And you don’t mess
around with Slim)
Yea, big Jim got his hat
Find out where it’s at And it’s not hustling people strange to you
Even if you do got a two piece custom made
pool cue… yea
(REPEAT CHORUS)