Lyrics:

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
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 the little grey mare
Most likely she'll stumble, most likely she'll fall
But never you 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 dancing, my noble Stewball