Shaggy and the Great Steak Robbery

Behind the line of hypermarche bins         
the king of the faded rug            
and number one contender         
for the shaggiest wolfhound       
in France            
lounges long and hungry and lean            
Giant gray paws       
devouring the length            
of the truck's back seat          
impatient excited jaws       
twitching and drooling         
while the engine ticks over serene           
         
He keeps his cool          
not a bark,       
as telltale drops of blood            
seep guilty       
from the heavy black sacks         
dead weight bulging       
with out-of-date meat         
but nothing nasty       
to buzz the Marseillaise         
grace a dieu,       
not an evil worm or maggot             
to be seen            
         
The only witness         
an outraged trolley marshall         
whirling flamboyant arms            
hurls cries of 'vag'         
to burn our ears            
cheeks redder than Napoleon         
as he closes in            
So for the sake of politeness         
and international canine relations         
I floor it past the gate--         
we always prefer our getaways clean         
         
Home free         
our hideaway by the river         
where even a moldy bone            
offending Shaggy's nose         
becomes fish food instantly,         
we can afford to be picky         
now our future seems stuffed            
full of steak...
and as the banquet             
sizzles, spits, then captures the night             
all the robbers agree      
C'est le tastiest, juiciest, barbie             
any thieving hound         
could ever have foreseen