Stewball

Stewball was a good horse
He wore a high head
And the mane on his foretop
Was fine as silk thread
I rode him in England
I rode him in Spain
He never did lose, boys
He always did gain
So come all you gamblers
Wherever you are
And don't bet your money
On that little grey mare
Most likely she'll stumble
Most likely she'll fall
But you never will lose, boys
On my noble Stewball
As they were a-riding
'Bout halfway around
That grey mare she stumbled
And fell to the ground
And away out yonder
Ahead of them all
Came a prancin' and a dancin'
My noble Stewball