Old Stewball was a racehorse,
And I wished he were mine.
He never drank water,
He always drank wine.
His bridle was silver,
And his mane it was gold,
But worth of his saddle
Has never been told.
The fairgrounds was crowded,
And old Stewball was there,
But the betting was heavy
On the bay and the mare.
Oh, way up yonder
Ahead of them all
Came prancing and dancing
My noble Stewball.
If I bet on the grey mare
And I bet on the bay
And if I'd bet on old Stewball,
I'd be a free man today.
Oh, the hoot owl she hollers
And the turtle dove moans.
I'm a poor boy in trouble.
I'm a long way from home.
Old Stewball was a racehorse.
And I wished he was mine.
He never drank water,
He always drank wine.