G5 A5 D5 G5 C5 D5

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Stewball was a good horse, he wore his head high,
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and the mane on his foretop, was fine as silk thread.

              G5      E5              A5
I rode him in England, I rode him in Spain,
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and I never did lose, boys, I always did gain.

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So come all you gamblers, wherever you are,
                   D5 D5 D5                 G5  C5 D5
and don`t bet your money on that little grey mare.

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Most likely she`ll stumble, most likely she`ll fall,
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but never you`ll lose, boys, on my noble Stewball.

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As they were a-riding, `bout halfway round,
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that grey mare she stumbled, and fell on the ground.

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And way out yonder, ahead of them all,
                      D5 D5 D5             G5   C5 D5
came a-prancing and a-dancing, my noble Stewball.

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Stewball was a race horse, and by the day he was mine,
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he never drank water, he always drank wine.