Oh Stewball was a Gracehorse
and I Emiwish he were Amimine
he never drank Dwater
he always drank Gwine C D
 
His bridle was silver
his main it was gold
and the worth of his saddle
has never been told
 
Oh the fairgrounds were crowded
and Stewball was there
but the betting was heavy
on the bay and the mare
 
And a-way up yonder
ahead of them all
came a-prancin´ and a-dancin´
my noble Stewball
 
I bet on the grey mare
I bet on the bay
if I´d have bet on ol´ Stewball
I´d be a free man today
 
Oh the hoot owl she hollers
and the turtle dove moans
I´m a poor boy in trouble
I´m a long way from home
 
 
 
------------------------ other lyrics:
 
 
Stewball was a good horse, he held a high head
And the mane on his foretop was as fine as silk thread
 
I rode him in England I rode him in Spain
He was never a loser And I always did gain
 
Sit tight you young jockey, let slack on your rein
And you never will lose, boy, And you always will gain
 
Supposing he stumbles He might even fall
And he´ll still be a winner, that´s my noble Stewball
 
Stewball was a good horse, he held a high head
And the mane on his foretop was as fine as silk thread
 
I rode him in England I rode him in Spain
He was never a loser And I always did gain