Along with Dean Martin, I have found myself singing, “Everybody loves somebody sometime…. My sometime is now.” Apparently, songwriters Sam Coslow, Irving Taylor and Ken Lane are my tribe (lyrics licensed by Barton Music Corporation).
So, I have questions. Can anybody answer everything?
I want to know something about everything. Does that make me a busybody?
Nobody knows everything. But somebody knows something.
How does anybody become somebody? When do you become somebody?
I was just pondering that everybody knows somebody. But the other way around, not so much.
Maybe somebody will tell me I’m clever. Perhaps nobody will.
Everybody will have an opinion on everything. A busybody will however, “know it all.”
Nobody knows everybody. I know somebody.
Anybody can be somebody, right? I’m not just anybody, I’m somebody.
A busybody thinks they know something about everybody. But, in reality they know nobody entirely.
I think nobody can really know everything about anybody. Everybody has private thoughts.
I’ve worked on this little ditty now and again for some time. I really hope somebody, if not everybody who reads this realizes that I’m nobody to be telling anybody that I know anything.
In fact, I’m not at all sure if my grammar is altogether correct. But somebody will surely tell me about it, thusly educating everybody.
They say hindsight is 20/20 so everybody out there has perfect hindsight. But they also say nobody’s perfect.
“Everybody finds somebody someplace…. My someplace is here.”