Lyrics Everything Is Everything - Paul Heaton

Everything Is Everything

When hip-hops selling perfume and boy bands selling grief
The blues men 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 land
The newsreader likes to read the news but he’s also in a band
And feminism’s fast asleep with a cock in either hand
Everything is anything to anyone
Modern, modern man is a man of many mates
So we decorate, we imitate, we duplicate our greats
It’s the sound of octopuses giving infinite 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 anything to anyone
Locate, locate, locate, locate the victim’s 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 five and seventy-five year olds worry 'bout 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 YourSpace, Myspace, their big mouth
Turns everything outside inside out
And YourTube, MyTube, everybody’s spout
Everything is anything and owt is fucking nowt
Modern, modern children, modern girls and boys
Leaving all their nursery rhymes, ignoring all their toys
It’s the sound of shoot-'em-up making all the fucking noise
Every kid’s business is his own business
And the thin are getting thinner, the big are getting bigger
Till five and seventy-five year olds worry 'bout 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’s this fat, bald skin
Till the fitness instructors and the owners of the gym
Are «Seig Heil"ing down from the balcony of the trim
And the neighbour of the chauffeur of the brother of the act
Is helping selling papers by omitting just one fact
That he doesn’t really know them but what he knows for sure
Is everybody’s hands are in everyone else’s knicker drawer
With Easter eggs in January, Christmas lights in June
Anything that’s barely over’s coming back real soon
Ah, some folk call it gluttony, some folk call it greed
It’s just a million fucking pigeons to a single grain of seed
And the thin are getting thinner, the big are getting bigger
Till five and seventy-five year olds worry 'bout their figure
The big are getting bigger, the thin are getting thinner
Till everyone’s looking, everyone’s cooking everyone else’s dinner
Everybody’s business is show business…