Stewball was a race horse
And I wish he was mine,
He never drank water,
He always drank wine.
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,
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 grey mare.
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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 on the ground.
And away out yonder
Ahead of them all
Came a prancin' and a dancin'
My noble Stewball.
Oh, Stewball was a race horse
And I wish he was mine,
He never drank water,
He always drank wine.
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