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.
