DADS LITTLE BLACK BOX….
When I was a tiny tot, just up off the ground,
My dad had a little black box, which mad a lot of sound.
It would go off, during the night,
on with the boots,& out of sight.
My dad is, a fire fighter you see,
Being all that he could be.
Through the summer, he was gone a lot,
Fighting fire which, burnt so hot.
Winter came, as did rain,
Dad’s black box would, sound again.
He is a fire fighter, you see,
Mending things for you and me.
One day when I was older,
I made a decision that would make me bolder.
I would to be a fire fighter
Making peoples days much brighter.
I’d climb into to that big red truck,
With my dad and all our luck,
We’d fight the fire, side by side
Clean the mess with the greatest pride.
I’ll wear the black boots, just like my dad,
Wear my yellows, and whistle a tad.
I know the next time my black box will sound
I’ll be on my way, to the fire ground.
I’ll meet him there and when we’re done
I’ll hug him tight and say thanks for the fun.
For my dad is a fire fighter you see
Just like him, I’ve come to be.