The pickup artis's lament
Copyright 2017 Alan Marchand (BMI). A Backtalk Unlimited Production
If at first you don't succeed try, try again.
At a local lounge, where I used to scrounge,
I met a gal named Jenny.
After a couple of drinks I began to think
That I might be gettin’ any.
But I’d moved too fast, and the moment passed.
I had just one drink too many.
And she said once more, as she hit the door,
“You sure ain’t gettin’ any!”.
Now, life’s a ball, you can’t win ‘em all,
But I just keep on a-tryin’.
I could say “no sweat”, but you can bet
That I really must be lyin’.
So I play the game with more of the same
Hopin’ one time out of many
That I just might click with a top-drawer chick,
And I might be gettin’ any.
There once was a time when I had a dime,
Now I’m down to my last few pennies.
The nights are cold, and I’m growin’ old,
And I sure ain’t gettin’ any.
I had friends galore, women by the score.
One can never have too many.
But that was then, but not since when
I could count on gettin’ any.
When I go out on a date I would stay real late,
And I’d spend a buck or two.
Well, son-of-a-gun, I could have some fun
Without havin’ to say “I do”.
Now it’s all been spent, can’t pay the rent,
And I’m left with grief a-plenty.
Times sure are tough, and if that ain’t enough
It seems I just can’t get me any.