Good old Jim Croce.

The oldies station was playing “You Don’t Mess Around With Jim” on my way into work today.

I’ve always liked that song, but today it meshed with my mood and in many ways, I feel like Willie McCoy, aka “Slim”.

In regards to my Christian walk and the Devil: I’m coming for what’s been taken from me and you better watch out.

Uptown got its hustlers
Bowery got its bums
And 42nd street got big Jim Walker
He’s a pool shootin’ son of a gun
Ya, he’s big and dumb as a man can come
But 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 the old Lone Ranger
And you don’t mess around with Jim, da do da do…

Well out of south Alabama come a country boy
He said, “I’m looking for a man named Jim
I am a pool shootin’ boy, my name is Willie McCoy
But down home they call me Slim
And 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’ve come to get my money back,” and everybody said, Jack, don’t you know

Well a hush fell over the pool room
When Jim he come boppin’ 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
And 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

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 Slim, da, do, da, do…