I'Ll Never Play Carnegie Hall, Oh No

Well, I sit here all day and I practice Chopin And I bang that poor keyboard like no other man. What the hell does it get me but sore fingertips? As I grunt in frustration while chewing my lips. But I went to a concert on Saturday night And beheld a grandmaster there in the limelight. As his hands moved like lightning I wanted to shout; Ludwig Beethoven's thunder came cascading out. I was lucky to have a front balcony seat As a perch to look down from on such a rare treat. The performance was perfect, but made me so sad As it served to remind me I was truly quite bad (And to tell you quite frankly, it almost drove me mad.) The musician of whom I've been ranting and raving Is a Russian by birth, a small fact I've been saving To disclose once I'd told you the effect on my mind When I entered the Palace for this one-of-a-kind Virtuoso performance after which I had dined. At McDonald's I spied him there standing in line As he ordered an Angus and a glass of red wine. Though I asked about caring for tendons that smart His response grabbed my ego and shook it apart. As he paid the young clerk for his hasty repast He rotated his visage and spake very fast. He said, "Ham-handed brutes are the ones who risk much; "To avoid any damage, they'd lighten their touch."