Touche (with a bloody accent). I fear at school those not entirely happy with my beautiful personality used to refer to me as shitworth. How nasty of them!

Who cares if the beast never mooed
Before it was slaughtered and stewed?
So what if it neighed?
The sound it once made
Can't be heard in a plateful of food.

The restaurant, classy and tony,
Served sirloin, not spam or baloney,
Or so people thought
Till the day they were caught
Supplanting their sirloin with pony.

I’m happy to try this and that:
Leg of ferret, or ragout of bat.
But I do draw the line
When I’m given my wine
In a glass where the waiter has spat.

Our restaurants are now international;
To balk at the horse is irrational.
But I stifled a tear
As I thought how, last year,
My ‘prime Angus’ had won the Grand National.

Ragout of bat. That slays me.

A few slow lengths up and down the swimming baths and I came up with this.

The pies of our butcher in Sydney
Were described as The Best Steak and Kidney,
Which wasn't quite true.
They were old kangaroo,
So he did for us properly, didn't he?

That last one's of Brian is a winner.

You guys don't leave any effluvia un-fluved.

Nor any turd unstoned.

Three shits in the wind.

(I don't know if this rhyme will work outside of NY)

I thought I was dining on cattle,
But chewing became great battle.
I found out the truth
When I busted a tooth
On the stud of a fine English saddle.