Stewball

Stewball was a good horse
He wore his head high
And the mane on his foretop
Was 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 bet your money
On that little gray mare

Most likely she'll stumble
Most likely she'll fall
But never you'll lose, boys
On my noble Stewball

As they were a riding
'Bout halfway round
That gray mare she stumbled
And fell on the ground

And way out yonder
Ahead of them all
Came a prancing and a dancing
My noble Stewball

Stewball was a race horse
And by the day he was mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine