Have you ever been called a Probee?
Or Rookie? They’re both the same
Or bragged about being a fireman,
your only claim to fame
Ever returned from a run at midnight,
tired, and wet and cold.
Knowing its time to clean the trucks;
A tradition from days of old.
Our world is full of traditions,
like saying Grace at Noon.
A parade in October,
in the light of a harvest moon
Visiting children at schools
our chest pushed out with pride
Letting them blow the siren
or even take a ride.
But this job’s not all glory,
there’s a dark and gloomy side
Of homes and memories burning
Of love ones trapped inside.
You pray you are successful
in easing someone’s pain
But often things are lost
You never can regain
When a fireman’s duty calls him
from this life
And the flag that draped his casket,
is presented to his wife
And when the bell is sounded,
FIVE, BY FIVE, BY FIVE.
And GOD’s Taken another hero’s name,
out of the book of life
Just remember, its tradition!
From day one you can depend
that Comrades, Friends and Brothers
stand with you to the End.
