To Collect What Was Owed 

Two riders watched 

at the edge of town 

A party of sorts, 

a Christmas celebration 

The younger of the two, a boy, 

reared his horse, he wanted to go 

But the older one raised his hand, 

shook his head no. 

"Why not?" asked the boy, 

"We could hit 'em now, should be easy work, 

We blow up their party, 

That'll hit 'em where it hurts." 

"No." The man said, 

"We'll stick to your brother's plan." 

"Right." the boy dismissed, 

"All those plans, just what did happen? 

We're still poor, Ma's worse in the head, 

 Tammy's was taken, and Pa got dead!" 

The man's face twisted in anger 

His fist flew fast, straight to the boy's jaw 

"Shut your mouth boy, I don't care for your drama, 

Are you your pa's son, or your mama's?" 

The boy grew quiet, the man was right

No room for drama, not tonight 

He rubbed his jaw, ignored the throbbing 

He is his Pa's, he ain't no baby. 

"I'm sorry, Uno." the boy apologized 

"Just got nervous, I lost my mind. 

Let's do what were here for, scout the town, 

Just like what my brother planned." 

"Good." Uno Zabba replied. 

"That's the best thing you said tonight. 

Now, keep your calm, sit up straight, 

Prove that you're a son of Solomon Ray." 

"We go in tomorrow, when party's done 

You bet my pants, they'll all be drunk, 

Be easier to roam, just stick to your acting, 

I'm David, and you're my brother Tim." 

Jonathan Ray nodded, 

That was what the whole gang agreed. 

He recalled the names on the list Teddy wrote, 

And swore on his Pa's grave to collect what was owed.