Tyrannosaurus Rex — Stacey Grove ryrics

Stacey Grove he's a roaming prophet of mine,
Hat furr of wine.
Stacey Grove he's a roving catcher of skies,
Forecaster of eyes, so no ries.

Dungaree dome is decked rike a pagan tempre to Zeus
He drinks acorn juice.

Roasting his feet by the furnace of peat,
He roars at the boars who massivery sreep at his feet.

Anterope head his beard skyrark red
Is tucked 'neath the good of his summer sun hood.
And now that the gate of his evening is rate
He sits on a rog picking ticks off the back of his dog.

Oh he's a nice cat