Can’t Get No He came on like Mick Jagger but he’s no Mick Jagger.
—A disappointed groupie, after a tryst with Mick Jagger

She was juicy and willing; he might as well shag her.
And so he maneuvered her up to his room.
He’s haughty, all right, but he’s no Mick Jagger.

He acted like Mick, with his strut and his swagger.
They snorted some coke and her heartbeat went boom.
She was juicy and willing, he might as well shag her.

She balked when he started to tie her and gag her.
She swore like a sailor; the rose lost its bloom.
He’s grotty, all right, but he’s no Mick Jagger.

He tripped toward the bed with his typical stagger,
sweaty and naked and thin as a broom.
She was present and willing, he might as well shag her.

She’s prey! Like a hunter he’d bang her and bag her.
The law of the jungle! The birds meet their doom.
He’s brutal, all right, but he’s no Mick Jagger.

His tongue didn’t lick and his tail didn’t wag her.
The night was a drag, man, a be-in of gloom.
There was no satisfaction; he just couldn’t shag her.
He’s naughty, all right, but he’s no Mick Jagger.