Stewball lyrics

Stewball was a good horse, he wore his head high

And the mane on his fore top 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 place 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 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