Hotshot! Hotshot! Live your creed,
Famine, hardship, these your need.
Live the life that's known to few,
A purging conquest calling you.

This group was led by a man named Dale!
A bespeckled lad who loved building trail.
Some called him Combie, some pops or dad.
His singing and jokes are pretty damn bad!

Our foreman lives to a different drum's beat;
This man Larry Decker, has a love of the heat.
The mountains, the trees, for him are a steeple.
He cares for the land and lives to serve people.

Tough Dale Brush endured pain and strife,
He quit nasty vices to add to his life.
He set a fixed goal, he made up his mind;
A harder-core hotshot you'll be hard pressed to find!

The crew at their worst, is a pretty good bunch.
Wanting C-rats for breakfast and "biscuits" for lunch.
A well-formed assembly of boys, girls, and Taz;
And no finer 'shot crew any forest has!

They started the season eager for flame,
As Winema Hotshots, they were proud of their name.
One day in July, they were called by and by;
"To Nevada we go," it's time to fly.

On to Wyoming, the Rocky Mountain crest,
The crew was estatic, they beat on their breast.
"Thank God for these fires!" a rally for me,
But a short stop at BIFC, and back home we'd be.

On Hadden, on Rosebusch, on Burrows, on Presser;
Let's blaze on to Utah, our fears never lesser.
Rain on the Dixies cause spirits to tire,
"G.I.O." I said gleely, "Idaho is a'fire!"

The Salmon Mountains, so rugged and steep,
Asked courage and vision, to dig really deep.
We cut lots of line, hiked many a mile,
We hooked that old fire in true Winema style!

Our bubbles were burst, our stamina tested,
When zone dispatch asked, "Is your crew all rested?"
Combie just gleamed when he gave his reply,
"Yes, we can work — we will cut line or die!"

My season ended the other day,
A fire in the North Zone forced me to say,
"For me this year's done and come to pass,
but I'll be back next year — you can bet your sweet ass!"