His bridle was silver, and his mane it was gold
And the worth of his saddle has never been told

Oh the fairgrounds were crowded, and Stewball was there
But the betting was heavy on the bay and the mare

As they were approaching, about half way around
The gray mare she stumbled and fell to the ground

And away out yonder, ahead of them all
Came a-prancing and a-dancing, my noble Stewball

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 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 wish he were mine
He never drank water, he always drank wine