Lyrics Everything Is Everything - Paul Heaton

When hip hops selling perfume, boy bands selling grief,
The bluesmen market life insurance, just one foot underneath
Jazz has come to nothing, but transparent handkerchief
Everything is anything to anyone
The butcher sells you pantyhose, the supermarket sells you lamb
The newsreader likes to read the news, but hes also in a band
And feminisms fast asleep, with a cock in either hand
Everything is everything to everyone
Modern modern man is a man of many mates
So we decorate, we imitate, we duplicate our greats
Its the sound of octopuses giving infinate high eights
Everybody's business is show business
The newsagent sells you holidays, the travel shop sells you sand
The local vicar saves your soul, but he also saves the damned
Nothing's black and white no more, just permanently tanned
Everything is everything to everyone
Locate, locate, locate the victims house
Swap the wives and take their lives and turn them inside out
Nothing left in closet, nothing left in doubt
Everything is anything to anyone
Modern, modern woman's juggling many knives
Duplicating, imitating other people's lives
To the sound of a million whistling wolves
From the grounds of a thousand building sites
Everybody's business is show business
And the thin are getting thinner
The big are getting bigger
Till 5 and 75 year olds
Worry about their figure
The big are getting bigger
The thin are getting thinner
Till everyone's looking, everyone's cooking
Everyone else's dinner
And the indoors want you Oliver, the outdoors want you Oddie,
The bank they want a tex or hank, the mic' wants Pavarotti
Kitchen, garden, wardrobe, property in the sun
Everything is anything to anyone
And this your space, my space, their big mouth
Turns everything outside inside out
And your tube, my tube, everybody's spout
Everything is anything and Owt is fucking Owt
Modern, modern children, modern girls and boys
Leaving all their nursery rhymes, ignoring all their toys
Its the sound of shoot em up
Making all the fucking noise
Every kids business is his own business
And the thin are getting thinner
The big are getting bigger
Till 5 and 75 year olds
Worry about their figure
The big are getting bigger
The thin are getting thinner
Till everyone's looking, everyone's cooking
Everyone else's dinner
And we shave our heads, to make us look thin
Till the whole fucking earth this fat, bald skin
Till the fitness instructors and the owners of the gym
Are seighheilling down from the balcony of the trim
And the neighbour of the chauffeur, of the brother of the act
Is helping selling papers by ommiting just one fact
That he doesn't really know them, but what he knows for sure
Is everyone hands are in everyone else's knicker draw
With Easter eggs in January
Christmas lights in June
Anything that's barely over's
Coming back real soon
Some folk call it gluttony
Some folk call it greed
It's just a million fucking pigeons
To a single grain of seed