The pupil who wanted to become teacher

Every pupil wanted to usurp their tutelary master,
But I wanted to do it much, much faster.
And so extra learning became my nights,
The aim of which to win each intellectual fight,
Until I left that old man completely burned out
And went on my way with my genius to flout.

Soon, though, I learned that without direction
I could not reach my momentous delectation,
That without this man I could not reach
The standard I could then to others teach.
But rather than bring me into line
This knowledge led me to my crime.

Impatient always and ever and to the last,
I went less than cooly about my task.
After another put down after impetulance,
I lanced him with absolute impudence,
Before proceeding to beat in his skull
Repeatedly and without a single lull
Until I was restrained and taken to the dungeon,
Where I would no longer be able to bludgeon.

If there is a moral to this odd little tale,
Is it that against your elders you should not rail?
Or to be patient, to hold out for the course?
Or just not kill, not to flog a dead horse?
I don’t know, I never really learned a thing,
That’s why I ended up bound in the clink.