terrorism

Right down through me and you was like brothers, no others never came near to us, they had a fear of us. And I have to say that came in useful. The ranchers knew we were few and first warned us, then suborned us. And I have to say I was surprised. The shootings began, we stayed, others ran. But the idea grew that we could fight too. And I have to say I was ready. It was so damn easy, the house, the yard, only one guard. We kicked in the door, shot him down on the floor. And I have to say it felt good. It felt so good we did it again and again and again and again with all the others. Get off our land until the Rangers came down with reward posters: Five Hundred Dollars for me, Two Hundred Fifty for Billy John Bob: and I believe he never forgave me for that. We never give a damn for the Rangers, it was the local farmers we was afraid of and with good reason. They'd turn in their parents for five dollars, a shot, and a bag of seeds. In the City of Chicago as the evening shadows fall I recall those days. We lost everything. The poor always lose in America, as everywhere else. It's just a fact. But I was glad I fought back in my young youth and shot a couple dozen rich bastards. That's something you can look back on in your old age with a sense of quiet pride: it was them that died and never grew old. Stealing land, grabbing food from the mouths of children; treating better men as slaves. A Remington in the hands of a steady man can soon change things around. I go to the grave of Billy John Bob. He worked on the streetcars, got drunk towards the end. I lay down wildflowers. He was my friend. I'll die in my time. I will never feel sorry.