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Stewball was a good horse He wore his head high 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 bet 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 gray 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 Stewball was a race horse And by the day he was mine He never drank water He always drank wine