Everything Is Everything

When Hip-Hops selling perfume (and) 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 pantihose 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

Nothings black and white no more Just permanently tanned

Everything is Everything to Everyone

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 5 and 75 year olds

Worry 'bout their figure

The big are getting bigger

The thin are getting thinner

Till everyones looking (everyone's cooking)

At 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

Everthing is Anything to Anyone

And this Your Space-My Space Their Big Mouth

Turns Everything OutsideInside Out

And Your Tube-My Tube Everybody's Spout

Everything is Anything Owt is Fucking Nowt

And we shave our heads To make us look thin

Till the whole fuckin' earths this fat, bald Skin

Till the fitness instructors And the owners of the gym

Are siegheiling 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 draw

With Easter eggs in January and 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