[Intro]
                                  


[Verse]
             
With his back 

              
against the Sa

             
n Francisco tr


affic
        
On the bridge'

            
s side that fa

              
ces towards th

     
e jail
            
Setting out to

        
 join a demogr

      
aphic,
             
He hoists his 

             
first leg up o

             
ver the rail.

             
A phone call's

              
 made, police 

             
cars show up q

    
uickly.
        
The sergeant s

            
lams his passe

        
nger door.
            
He says, Hey s

              
on why don't y

        
ou talk throug

              
h this with me

 
,
             
Just tell me w

             
hat you're doi

         
ng it for.


[Chorus]
            
Oh, it's a lit

              
tle bit of eve

       
rything,
            
It's the mount

              
ains, it's the

   
 fog,
             
It's the news 

              
at six o'clock


,
         
It's the death

             
 of my first d

  
og.
             
It's the angel

             
s up above me,
             
It's the song 

           
that they don'

      
t sing,
        
It's a little 

            
bit of everyth

    
ing.


[Verse]
             
There's an old

             
er man who sta

              
nds in a buffe

 
t line,
        
He is smiling 

            
and he's holdi

              
ng out his pla

 
te,
            
And the furthe

            
r he looks bac

          
k into his tim


eline,
             
That hard road

             
 always led hi

          
m to today.

             
Making up for 

             
when his brigh

              
t future had l

      
eft him,
        
Making up for 

              
the fact that 

            
his only son i

    
s gone,
            
And letting ev

              
erything out o

        
nce, his serve

          
r asks him,
             
Have you figur

             
ed out yet, wh

              
at it is you w

    
ant?


[Chorus]
            
I want a littl

              
e bit of every

      
thing,
            
The biscuits a

           
nd the beans,
             
Whatever helps

             
 me to forget 

about
              
The things tha

        
t brought me t

        
o my knees.
             
So pile on tho

              
se mashed pota

  
toes,
            
And an extra c

/          
hicken wing,
             
I'm having a l

        
ittle bit of e

            
verything.


[Verse]
             
Somewhere a pr

              
etty girl is w

             
riting invitat

     
ions,
        
To a wedding s

            
he has schedul

              
ed for the fal

  
l,
              
Her man says, 

            
"Baby, can I m

        
ake an observa

    
tion?
             
You don't seem

              
 to be having 

             
any fun at all


."

             
She said, "You

              
 just worry ab

             
out your groom

             
smen and your 

shirt size,
         
And rest assur

             
ed that this i

            
s making me fe

        
el good,
             
I think that l

             
ove is so much

        
 easier than y

   
ou realize,
             
If you can giv

              
e yourself to 

             
someone, then 

            
you should.


[Chorus]
             
Cause it's a l

             
ittle bit of e

       
verything,
            
The way you jo

              
ke, the way yo

    
u ache,
             
It is getting 

             
up before you,
           
So I could wat

           
ch you as you 

     
wake.
             
So on that day

            
 in late Septe

mber,
              
It's not some 

          
stupid little 

   
ring,
              
I'm getting a 

        
little bit of 

          
everything.

            
Oh, it's a lit

              
tle bit of eve

 
rything,
            
It's the matad

              
or and the bul


l,
             
It's the sugge

              
sted daily dos

  
age,
         
It's the red m

             
oon when it's 

    
full.
             
All these psyc

              
hics and these

     
 doctors,
             
They're all ri

           
ght and they'r

         
e all wrong,
             
It's like tryi

              
ng to make out

           
 every word,
              
When they shou

             
ld simply hum 

    
along.
              
It's not some 

             
message writte

           
n in the dark,
             
Or some truth 

           
that no one se


es,
        
It's a little 

            
bit of everyth

     
ing.