I can't begin to count how many times I've sung that
while bouncing a baby on my lap.

Uptowns got it hustlers
The bowery's got its bums
42nd street got big jim walker
He's a pool shootin' 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

And 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 ol' lone ranger
And you don't mess around with Jim

Well outta 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
Yeah I'm lookin for the king of forty second street
He 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
You don't tug on superman's cape
You don't spit into the wind
You don't pull the mask of the ol' lone ranger
And you don't mess around with Jim

Well a hush fell over the pool room
When Jimmy come boppin' in off the street
And when the cutting was done
The only thing that wasn't bloody
Was the souls of the big mans feet
Yeah he was cut in bout a hundred places
And he was shot in a couple more
And you better believe
They sung a diffrent kinda story
When big Jim hit the floor, uh huh

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 ol' lone ranger
And you don't mess around with Jim

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 ol' lone ranger
And you don't mess around with Slim

You don't pull the mask of the ol' lone ranger
And you don't mess around with Slim



Jim Croce

I went down to Taneytown
I went down to Taneytown
To see what I could see
My mama told me never go
But I'm almost 22 years old
Sometimes I fear this holler swallow me
She ran off to Gettysburg
Went off with that new beau of hers
I snuck off after dark
Long way down the county road
Stars were bright
The moon was low
Down to where the black top highway starts
Chorus:
I went down to Taneytown
I went down to Taneytown
I went down to see what I could see

I could see everybody stared at me
You'd think that they ain't never seen
A colored boy before
They chunked at me at me
Called me names
They'd have whipped me sure but the sheriff came
I slipped off through the dry goods store
I ran down Division Street
Some of them boys followed me
Down to the railroad track
Four of them and I cain't fight
But I had my old Randall knife
I cut that boy and I never did look back

Chorus

Cross the fields and woods I run
Like a bullet from a rabbit gun
Back home to my bed
Ma came in from Gettysburg
Her and that new beau of hers
"Boy you look like hell" was all she said

Month went by without a word
Somebody down the holler heard
About that boy they hung
He begged those men to spare his life
But I dropped my bloody Randall knife
He picked it up so they thought he was the one

I went down to Taneytown
I went down to Taneytown
I ain't goin' back there anymore



Steve Earle

Over in Killarney
Many years ago,
Me Mither sang a song to me
In tones so sweet and low.
Just a simple little ditty,
In her good ould Irish way,
And l'd give the world if she could sing
That song to me this day.

Chorus:
"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby."

Oft in dreams I wander
To that cot again,
I feel her arms a-huggin' me
As when she held me then.
And I hear her voice a-hummin'
To me as in days of yore,
When she used to rock me fast asleep
Outside the cabin door.



Irish lulaby

Maybe in spirit but I am actually mostly of German stock.

I'm still with my Irish Gypsy. Gotta go. Have a good one, one and all. WT

When Billie Holiday recorded this song it became impossible for the american people, including the politicians, to ignore the racial tension and inequality in this country. It is a powerful song.

Strange Fruit
by Lewis Allen, Maurice Pearl, Dwayne Wiggins

Southern trees bearin' strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the roots
Black bodies swingin' in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin' from the Poplar trees

Pastoral scenes of the gallant south
Them big bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of Magnolia, clean and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh

Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the leaves to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop

***************
Wowza. Powerful stuff. I remember those days quite well.
Sometimes I think we have come a long way since then.
Other times I wonder if we have learned anything at all.

Peace, Beads and I Just Don't Know,
Prairie Doc

I love her voice, too.
It's too bad her life was cut short by addiction.
You see that so much in artists.
I think it has something to do with how empathetic they are.
They just can't handle all the pain and suffering they see around them, which makes them very creative, but open to addiction to escape from that pain.

Peace, Beads and I Have A Cd of Hers With My Fav....Lover Man,
Prairie Doc