Stewball
sung by Joan Baez

Stewball was a racehorse,
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 only 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 you never will lose, boys,
On the noble Stewball.

The fairgrounds were crowded
Old Stewball was there
But the betting was heavy
On the little grey mare

And the hoot owl, she holler
And the turtle dove moan
I'm a poor boy in trouble
I'm a long way from home

Well, I bet on the grey mare
And I bet on the bay
If I'd have bet on ol' Stewball
I'd be a rich man today

As they were riding,
'Bout halfway around,
That grey 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.