"To the town of Niima Outpost flew a stranger one fine day,
Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn't have too much to say,
No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip,
For the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip."
Sitting on a walkway bench in what was well known as Zaa Fenn territory. He had a seven-stringed hallikset cradled in his hands, fingers gently strumming across strings tuned for a more classic sound. He sang a song, a tale of the legendary Preef Callo. It told of a notorious outlaw that hid out in a country town, a Devaronian gunslinger known for his temper and willingness to kill any he pleased for any reason at all. It told of Preef's arrival in the town, seeking the outlaw out, hearing of his exploits and his viciousness. It told of the people of the town knowing the legendary, handsome Preef Callo was sure to meet his death at hands of the outlaw.
Then they drew, and Preef, of course, drew fastest. Morgan sang with feeling, as if he was there and saw it himself, had been personally saved by the leader of the Zaa Fenn from a vicious outlaw.
"There was 40 feet between them when they stopped to make their play,
And the swiftness of Preef Callo is still talked about today,
Jakku Red had not cleared leather 'fore a bolt had fairly ripped,
And Preef Callo's aim was deadly with the big iron on his hip."
Ever since Sullust and briefly spotting Preef Callo at a party on Eriadu, Morgan had been wondering about him. The security recording the Rodian gunslinger were truly impressive, nearly nailing that technicolour Jedi with a hipfire shot from nearly 40 meters. Hitting a target that wasn't moving wasn't that impressive, but that first shot? And the grenade? Poetry. He'd gone into that fight the least armed, taking the Force into account, and he'd only fired a few shots. But each one had an impact almost as much as each bolt of lightning and cracking of the ground. He was a famous the galaxy over, a hero to the poor youth of the outer rim worlds, a man to look up to. One day he was just another guy with a gun, and another day he'd become the best pistolier anyone knew of.
So naturally, Morgan wanted to meet him in person. Preferably not while someone was headbutting members of his gang nearby. 'Course it's not like he could just walk up to his penthouse, even if he was probably able to find it one way or another. It'd only work if he was either invited, or Preef came to Morgan himelf. So he hatched a plan. A busker, a skilled one, singing about Preef Callo in his own territory within a reasonable distance of his penthouse? Surely that would draw some, hopefully positive, attention. Especially with the crowd that had gathered, cheering for the Zaa Fenn hero with the big iron on his hip.
"It was over in a moment and the folks had gathered round,
There before them lay the body of the outlaw on the ground,
Oh, he might have went on living but he made one fatal slip,
When he tried to match Preef Callo with the big iron on his hip."
@Eccles