Stewball was a good horse, 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 always did gain.
So come all you gamblers, wherever you are,
and don't place your money on that little grey mare.
Most likely she'll stumble, most likely she'll fall,
but you never will lose, boys, on the noble Stewball.
As they were a-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 dancing, my noble Stewball.



(Joan Baez)