| The Whatley Gang (as we're known to the lawdogs back home) started up some winters back outside of Scrougout, deep in the thickets of East Texas. There was a loose affiliation 'twixt all us fellas (church and moonshining and whatnot), and since we all played some instruments, we figgered we'd start up a little group to play some local hoedowns fer extra bread, calling ourselves Sons of Perdition, jest like in the Bible. Well, our run-ins with Johnny Law finally caught up on us and there was a bit of a gunfight, so we hunkered down low fer a bit, then made a run fer it. Ain't been back since; no real place to call our home, no loved ones, and food on the lam tastes something awful. The only things we got to cling to are singing, the Good Book, and the acrid taste of revenge that's never far from our cracked lips. One day, we're gonna ride on back into that miserable town, and Hell's comin' with us. |
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