eve-ry-bo-dy wants do dance in a play-pen, but no-bo-dy wants to play in my gar-den. I see the hip-pies on an an-gry line, guess they don't get my mean-ing, I'm en-chan-ted by the birds in my blos-soms, I'm en-am-ored by young lov-ers on the week-end, I like the Forth of Ju-ly, when bombs start flash-ing, and I wish I had a shi-ny red top, a bu-gle with a big brass bell would cheer me up, or may-be some-thing big-ger that could real-ly go pop! so I could make the garden-ing stop come out to play, come out to play, and we'll pre-tend it's Christ-mas Day in my a-to-mic all my sci-en-tists are work-ing on a dead-line, so my psy-cho-lo-gist is work-ing day and night-time, they say they know what's best for me, but they don't know what they're do-ing, and I'm glad I'm not Gor-ba-chev, 'cause I'd wig-gle all night, like jel-ly in a pot, at least he's got a gar-den with a fer-tile plot, and a par-ty that will ne-ver stop, come out to play, come out to play, and we'll pre-tend it's Christ-mas Day in my a-to-mic I hope there's not-hing wrong out there, I'm watch-ing from my room in-side my room come out to play, come out to play, and we'll pre-tend it's Christ-mas Day in my a-to-mic gar-den