Stewball

Stewball was a good horse,
He wore a high head
And the mane on his foretop
Was fine as silt 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
Whereever 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 round
That grey 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