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. 

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. 

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. 

Oh he's a nice cat 

We recommend: WHEN THE TIME COMES

In the ghetto life is really tough
the politicians, all they do is talk
we are losing lives drop by drop
it is up to us to press the button to stop!

You better fight, fight, you better fight for your rights
you better be strong, strong, when the police come
you better run, run, tell all your people around
revolution, if there is any opposition!

Discrimination on the border is tough
the police patrols cover their crimes in the dark
we are losing rights and me no want to take that
if we all get together we can make them stop!

You better fight, figh


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