Тональность: Ab major•
Intro 1
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Verse 1
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Stewball was a good horse,
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he wore his head high
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And the mane on his fore top
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was fine as silk thread
I rode him in England,
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I rode him in Spain
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And I never did lose, boys,
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I always did gain
So come all you gamblers,
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Verse 2
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And don't bet your money on
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that little gray mare
Most likely she'll stumble,
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most likely she'll fall
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But never you'll lose, boys,
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on my noble
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Stewball
As they were a-riding,
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'bout 'bout halfway round
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That grey mare - she stumbled,
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and fell on the ground
And way out yonder,
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ahead of them all
Verse 3
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Came a-prancing and and a-dancing,
my my noble Stewball
Stewball was a race horse, and by the
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day he was mine
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He never drank water ,
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he always drank wine
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