Stacey Grove

Stacey Grove, he's a roaming prophet of mine

Hat full of wine

Stacey Grove, he's a roving catcher of skies

Forecaster of eyes, so no lies

He's a nice cat

Oh, he's a nice cat

Dungaree dome, is decked like a pagan temple to Zeus

He drinks acorn juice

Roasting his feet, by the furnace of peat

He roars at the boars, who massively sleep at his feet

He's a nice cat

Oh, he's a nice cat

Do-do-do-do

Stacey-Stacey Grove

Do-do-do-do

Stacey-Stacey Grove

Oh, he's a nice cat

Oh, he's a nice cat

Antelope head, his beard skylark red

Is tucked 'neath the good of his summer sun hood

And now that the gate of his evening is late

He sits on a log picking ticks off the back of his dog

He's a nice cat

Oh, he's a nice cat

Do-do-do-do

Stacey-Stacey Grove

Do-do-do-do

Stacey-Stacey Grove

Oh, he's a nice cat

Oh, he's a nice cat

Do-do-do-do

Stacey-Stacey Grove

Do-do-do-do

Stacey-Stacey Grove