Classic Poem

Who smoke-snorts toasts o' My Lady Nicotine,
Kicks stuffing out of Pussyfoot, bids his trio
Stick up their Stradivarii (that's the plural)
Or near enough, my fatheads; nimium
Vincina Cremonae ; that's a bit too near).
Is there some stockfish fails to understand?
Catch hold o' the notion, bellow and blurt back " Cole " ?
Must I bawl lessons from a horn-book, howl,
Cat-call the cat-gut " fiddles " ? Fiddlesticks!