Sheep to the slaughter, oh I thought this must be love
All your sons and daughters, in a strangle hold with a kid glove
She's got eyes like saucers, oh you think she's a dish
She is the blue chip that belongs to the big fish

But it's easier to say "I love you"
Than "Yours sincerely"; I suppose
All little sisters like to try on big sister's clothes
Big sister's clothes

The sport of kings, the old queen's heart
The prince in darkness stole some tart
And it's in the papers, it's in the charts
It's in the stop press before it all starts

With a hammer on the slap and tickle under grisly garments
With all the style and finesse of the purchase of armaments
Compassion went out of fashion
That's all your concern meant
Sweat it out for thirty seconds on home improvements

But it's easier to say "I love you"
Than "Yours sincerely"; I suppose
All little sisters like to try on big sister's clothes
Big sister's clothes
Big sister's clothes
Big sister's clothes

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): ELVIS COSTELLO