Munching me, a morsel eater, I exclaim: do
I ever like tasty treats done doggie-style!
Not coyote, yet not haute-y, and not game too.
It’s a mongrel eater I’ll be in a while.

Up I’ll dial the burner for a mongrel heater;
up I’ll sauté not sausage, but your choice parts.
I could steam in a wok, but that’s more prep—
I’ll just fry there, for to-die fare.
You’ll be warmed for a meal, mongrel heated;
I’ll have a roll as they extol my cooking arts.

Up I’ll dial the burner for a mongrel heater;
up I’ll sauté not a sauce, but your choice parts.
Once a team on a walk, taking more steps,
we would hie where there was dry air.
I’ll not warn; you’ll not feel mongrel-greaser—
I cock the Colt; no time to bolt; the slug departs.

Mortal heater>mongrel eater.