Who does he think he is, thinking he can tell you what to do! Luckily Rarity once told you exactly what to do if a stallion ever gets too hoovsey.
You swing back and launch a wing-assisted kick straight up and into his family jewels.
That was the plan, anyway. Instead your kick carries right on up and through, his body wavering like mist where your leg passes but remaining uninjured.
He smirks down at you. "How juvenile."
The jab only hardens your resolve. Though your forelegs are quite tightly held captive, that still leaves the full rest of your body to use as a weapon! You thrash and strike with everything you have. Headbutts, hip checks, low sweeps, double bucks, wing strikes. Any part of you that can get in range takes its shot.
But it's all for naught. Everything passes right through him like he's not even there and earning you nothing more than belittling smirks for your effort. It takes three songs for you to give up that avenue of attack.