I’m a bit slow tonight. I just typed something about Mick Jagger’s cock, and then looked at the name of the song, and – ohhhhh, right. Now I get it.
Sung, as opposed to written, it is a more discreet metaphor at least. And Jagger’s louche, amused delivery is far more the lazy rooster than the prowling one. The rest of the Stones are similarly post-coital, conjuring a morning-after mood with arrogant economy.