I have known little civility, sir,
few have been kind, fewer truthful.
And though within my ability, sir,
I remain dutifully youthful.
I go gray, then bald, with chagrin,
when you play the violin.
How I pray for death to begin,
when you play the violin.
True, there’s been trouble and trickery, sir,
trembling and tribulations.
Twitches from switches of hickory sir,
you sir and your usurpation.

But my patience wears very thin,
when you play the violin.
How I stay I can’t imagine,
when you play the violin.

I’ve endured struggling and thuggery, sir,
Physical Ed and psychosis.
Sculleries, skulls, and skullduggeries, sir,
Haplessness, hype and hypnosis.

But oy vay! the horrible din,
when you play the violin.
You betray an ear made of tin,
when you play, when you slay the violin…