Lyrics Jim - The Americans

The crowded streets of Cleveland
Never seemed so far away
From our house in south Ohio
When the morning paper came

As a boy I used to play
In a Cottonwood tree
One time I stayed up there all day
To keep the old man away from me

In a knapsack in the corner
My pants and roundabout
Some sticks and things, a yo-yo string
For the days he'd run me out

When his foolish pride
Tore open wide
He called me, Little Man Jim
Until the day he died

Blood beating in my ear drums, the moment he'd come
From drinking at the shop
Scraps of leather tied together
Wound a hefty crop

When things turned ugly
My mother clutched me
In the kitchen, whispering
Jim, listen

Now, you look here, Jim
You can do better than him
You're no little man, Jim
You can do better than him

Time passes slowly
When you're raised up out of town
But you grow up, and wouldn't you know it
You've gone and settled down

I lost my one good shot
Out in the county seat
And my own wife's been running behind my back
Making a fool of me

Hard candy in my pocket, sister's locket
Sitting in the pawn
Wandering temptation at the bus stop station
Staying up past dawn

I quit drinking
At Maude's Saloon
I feel out of place
When they see my face

They call me, Little Man Jim
I want nothing to do with them

My cousin drove over
From Circleville today
With news Aunt April died
But he had more to say

You know, this place wouldn't look so tired
If you just put a little work in
You could hold your head up that much higher
When these hillbillies get to smirking

Anyway, how long are you gonna hang around the holler, hauling water
Staring at loose ends
Getting wasted on your paycheck
And other folks' expense

Your Pa stood in this doorway
Stood in your way
Now he's long gone
Don't you go wrong

Now, you listen here, Jim
You can do better than him
It ain't too late, Jim
You can do better than him

But something troubling
Came up, bubbling
Some ancient pain
Through my aching brain

And I told him
Like my old man
Would've done
On his front lawn

I said, Go on home, cousin
You ain't allowed here
You'd better get on home
You know you ain't allowed here
And anyway, you ain't from around here

With your high-class drawl
You know-it-all
With your pretty wife
You better think twice
Giving me advice
When you talk poorly about my old man
You'll find out just the kind of man I am

With the money cousin lent me
And my pistol in my shirt
I steered the wheel to Maude's
To get my money's worth

I drank it from the bottle
From the jar and from the can
Until my words spilled quickly
Into the ears of every man

And when they called out, Little Man Jim
I didn't give a damn