Stewball

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