Up Soup Creek Without a Paddle

[Every good story needs a sub plot, so…] He watched from his vantage point on the bank’s roof And looked out for folk that he knew were uncouth His years on the run had made him aloof But soon he would get ‘them’ to utter the truth The dust kicking up on the path through the hills Was quite likely ‘kicked’ by the cause of his ills A man who he knew by his face, not his name A man who had brought him unwarranted shame For some time he’d lurked in the shadows by day Of this town’s affairs he could have little say He’d come to know faces and possibly yours But nothing of happenings behind closed doors He turned, cocked his gun and said, “Stop; who goes there?” A voice in the gloom said, “I am the Mayor. Of your presence here we have been well aware But of these townsfolk you have harmed not one hair With all sorts of politics happening here I’ve no time for vagrants, am I being clear So why is it that you are loitering here And hiding away, what is it you fear?” The outlaw said, “I am a man badly wronged. The condiment for which this town truly longed Was filtered away on a long ago night You call it ‘The night of the missing marmite.’ “I now seek the man who besmirched my good name He stole your yeast extract but I got the blame I’ve watched your town, searching for that face of his But I just can’t work out who everyone is The Mayor said, “You’ve made quite a stringent denial, Why not come forward and face formal trial, And if they decide you took that salty spread, You won’t need to hide cos you’ll be good and dead.” The outlaw was stunned and he lifted his head, “Say one more time what you only just said, Only one man ever said ‘Good and dead’, And I came to leave that man dead in his bed “So stand in the light and show me your face I know it was you who left me in disgrace I hoped you had vanished without any trace How did you get to be mayor of this place?” The mayor pulled a gun. “Gonna have me some fun, And you’re gonna pay for what they think you done! The marmite you speak of, I left the town none It’s all in my cellar… there’s almost a ton.” The outlaw said, “You could pull your trigger, but I’ve got a forty-five stuck in your gut That girlie Derringer might indent my skin But I’ll blow your testicles out through your grin.” The mayor dropped his gun and he said with a frown. “Why did you have to come back to this town I thought you were finished when you were sent down What will it take to stop you hanging round?” “The marmite you stole,” the outlaw began, “Was bought by the town for each woman and man And I’m here to do everything that I can To get it all back. My gun is my plan.” *** And so with the dawn of a Wild-West day The towns people found themselves full of dismay The return of the goo that had been took away Meant that would be breakfast now, day after day The mayor told the people who they need to seek They found him and gagged him before he could speak They told him, “We can’t eat that garbage, you freak.” Then bound him and threw that man into the creek