Stewball Old’ Stewball was a race horse, And I wish he were mine. He never drank water. He always drank wine. His bridle was silver, His mane it was gold. The worth of his saddle, Has never been told. The fair grounds were crowded. Old’ Stewball was there. But the betting was heavy, On the bay and the mare. I bet on the gray Mare, I bet on the Bay. If I’d bet on old Stewball, I’d be a rich man today. The hoot old she hollered. The turtledove moaned. I’m poor boy in trouble. And a long way from home. A way out yonder a head of them all, Came a dance and a prancin' My noble Stewball. Old’ Stewball was a race horse, And I wish he were mine. He never drank water. He always drank wine. His bridle was silver, His mane it was gold. The worth of his saddle, Has never been told.