In the rice harvest on the edge of the ridge, the frog is calling the fishing rod, and on the hook on the fishing rod, only the earthworm hangs on it, and the frog on the field is still desperately whining and screaming, waiting for the bait, waiting for the hook, waiting for the fun.

There is everything in the commissary, but there are only five cents in your pocket, beef ear cake popsicle fire blow pipe, in the end you want to buy that favorite, the girl next door neighbor, which one do you like to eat, the popsicle in your mouth, the fire blowpipe in your hand, and the shyness in your heart.

I always have to poke through the hornet's nest to know that the dangerous things are still less to do, and I always have to rummage through the snails to know that the snakes in the grass are so close, a ridge and a paradise, the crab said that the ridge is not my home, and one after another loaches are held in my hands, happy.

Adults always tell me that the bicycle should be on a tripod, and my little girlfriend told me that jumping rubber must start from the heel, how many days always, a few dozen children, just so hide and seek, just three words, such a game.

On the road after school, the cards are beating forward, playing water drifting and origami boats, swimming out of the big pond at home, when can we see the open-air movie, catch the endless fireflies together, look forward to the end of school, look forward to the evening, look forward to the flash.

~~ What is in memory? It is a little frog in the field, a small Xiaoice stick in its mouth, the days when it stabbed a hornet's nest and ran around, it was a naughty child who stepped on a tripod and did not know the height of the sky, and it was a loyal little audience who helped grandma take a small wooden stool to the commune to sit in a fixed seat to watch a movie and puppet show.

It is like a short song, like a fragrant flower, with a pleasant fragrance and loved by everyone, like a sweet little poem, the singing of the voice pulsates the baptism of the years, and like the rising sun in the sky, it is so vigorous. It's so carefree, so innocent, so happy and beautiful.

~~ Dedicated to the friends who can still preserve their childlike innocence, let us celebrate the festival that once belonged to us in memory and reality - "June 1st" Children's Day. Happy Children's Day to my friends!

The previous lyrics were changed to Luo Dayou's classic song "

- Hurricane Condor