Stewball

Stewball was a good horse

He wore his head high

And the mane on his foretop

Was fine as silk threadI rode him in England

I rode him in Spain

And I never did lose, boys

I always did gainSo come all you gamblers

Wherever you are

And don't bet your money

On that little gray mareMost likely she'll stumble

Most likely she'll fall

But never you'll lose, boys

On my noble StewballAs they were a riding

'Bout halfway round

That gray mare she stumbled

And fell on the groundAnd way out yonder

Ahead of them all

Came a prancing and a dancing

My noble StewballStewball was a race horse

And by the day he was mine

He never drank water

He always drank wine