It's six o'clock and the news is on

Well there's nothing much happening

But nothing much has gone.

The art of relaxing came to me in a flash

When there's nothing to do there's no need to dash.

And the machines that they have on sale

It's all computerised existence; listen to the punchcards wail

All the abuse that they have hurled

Doesn't really affect me 'cos it's a young man's world.

The art of planting each seed in its place

Is very important said a wrinkled face

In good rich soil where worms run free

And there's plenty of sunlight and it can help them breathe.

And he tends each bulb as if it were the last

And he nurtures each sapling as if it were the past

And the leaves should stay straight, they're corners shouldn't curl

He said this distinctly - 'cos it's a young man's world.

And he don't go out much he don't like the damp

In his spare time these days he just collects stamps

And he uses tweezers to put each stamp in its place

'Cos dirty stamps can be such a disgrace

And his working days they've come to an end

And he got a gold watch from his friends

And they brought his wife a set of pearls

And she wears them to functions 'cos it's a young man's world.

So when summer comes we'll be out once more

Down by the seaside getting wrecked by the shore

Huddled in a line all together they sleep

Got a salary to sustain them 'cos decadence ain't cheap

And if diversion really what I seek

I'll take up paper maché or maybe learn a bit of Greek

'Cos the suntanned bodies always get the nicest girls

So I'll swim through the darkness in my young man's world.