In Which I Share My Cure For Earworms

It happens now and then to one and all:
A song plays in our brains in endless loops.
It's rarely one we like but we're in thrall
E'en worse when one we hate makes us its dupes.
Sometimes inflicting them becomes a game
(As Netta Ribken oft accuses me),
In which one tries to implant the most lame
Tune of them all with much unholy glee.
However, I am armed 'gainst these attacks.
The secret arsenal within my brain
Has Schubert's "Trout Quintet" upon its stacks.
Not only does it cancel lesser tunes;
It well evokes an angler's afternoons.