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Stewball was a good horse |
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And he held a high head |
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And the mane on his foretop |
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Was fine as silk thread |
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I rode him in |
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EnglandAnd |
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I rode him in |
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SpainAnd I never did lose, boys |
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I always did gain |
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So come all you gamblers |
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From near and from far |
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Don't bet your gold dollar |
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On that little grey mare |
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Most likely she will stumble |
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Most likely she'll fall |
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But you never will lose |
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On my noble |
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StewballSit tight on your saddle |
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Let slack on your rein |
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And you never will lose boys, |
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You always will gain |
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As they were a-riding' |
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Bout halfway 'round |
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That grey mare she stumbled |
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And fell to the ground |
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And 'way out yonder |
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Ahead of them all |
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Came dancin' and prancin' |
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My noble Stewball |
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Stewball was a good horse |
|
And he held a high head |
|
And the mane on his foretop |
|
Was fine as silk thread |
|
I rode him in |
|
EnglandAnd |
|
I rode him in |
|
SpainAnd I never did lose, boys |
|
I always did gain |
