Roger Mcguinn - Stewball Lyrics
He wore a high headAnd the mane on his foretopWas fine as silk threadI rode him in EnglandI rode him in SpainHe never did lose, boysHe always did gainSo come all you gamblersWherever you areAnd don't bet your moneyOn that little grey mareMost likely she'll stumbleMost likely she'll fallBut you never will lose, boysOn my noble StewballAs they were a-riding'Bout halfway aroundThat grey mare she stumbledAnd fell to the groundAnd away out yonderAhead of them allCame a prancin' and a dancin'My noble Stewball