Satisfaction, Part 1 of 4

Keith Richards Hits the Studio This could be the last time. I feel really torn and frayed. Shattered. Where are we? Studio B? Is anybody there yet? I'm going in. Who are all these people? Morning Keith, yourself. Fragments, jarring shards. Electric keyboard, rumba kind of deal, the black chicks, harmony. Taylor's chords, like salt on porridge. Where's Jagger? Over there. Climb down off your ego, pal, and catch my eye, you tosser. Here I am, the beast of burden. We've got all these people. Horns. Percussion, too. "I am waiting," hanging in the air. We've got zero, man. The rocker locker? Nothing there. So what'll we do when the whip comes down?