The little child plays in the garden.
It can hardly wait for summer.
Little child it picks flowers,
and it brings them to its mother (hello mother) into the kitchen for on sniffing.

Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith
Analyzer-Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith

In the garden plays the little kiddy.
It builds for the ants between the flowers little cities.
In the garden plays the little neighbourschild,
and its hairs are actually flowing in the summer-wind.

Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith
Analyzer-Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith

(time for a guitar solo)

And its hairs are flowing in the summer-wind.
(of which has plenty in this part of the world)

Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith
Analyzer-Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith

Sometimes I think it would be quite nice,
if something of Analyzer would be in me. (it was me)
That is also one so has been but that is some time ago. (so damn ago)
And Analyzer, my neighbourschild, you are always so good upon.
I eat the kid of my neighbour up.

(fire)

Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith
Analyzer-Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith,
Analyzer-Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith,
Analyzer-Analyzer Smith, Analyzer Smith