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.
And the worth of his saddle,
Has never been told.
I went to the fairgrounds,
Old Stewball was there.
And the betting was heavy,
On the bay and the mare.
I bet on the gray mare,
And I bet on the bay.
If I'd bet on old Stewball,
I'd be a free man today.
Oh, the hoot how he hooted,
And the turtledove moaned.
I'm a poor boy in trouble,
A long way from home.
(repeat "Old Stewball was a race horse ")