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