His taste was odd to say the least, he sampled every form of beast,
As patron of the London Zoo he savoured birds and insects too,
Ate garnished beetles fried on rye and baked a crusty rhino pie,
For birthdays or a special treat he'd cook the dodo's tender feet.
A slight eccentric in his ways he boiled an elephant's trunk for days,
And when it proved too tough to slice he turned his gourmet sk**s to mice,
Invited guests for Sunday roast were served white mice on bu*tered toast,
Followed by a steaming stew of wild colonial kangaroo.
Of course he had his share of flops, like smoked giraffe and panther chops,
But all in all he cooked good fare, the best, said he, was polar bear,
A delicacy of the rarest kind for it was still quite hard to find,
Grilled and turned from time to time and all washed down with dry white wine.
Eccentrics all on his father's side, begun with frogs in formaldehyde,
So who would have thought he'd come to be a genuine celebrity,
A friend of swells and royalty who were treated to a splendid tea,
Who politely nibbled, but never scoffed for they were brought up to be toffs.