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.