Q & A Thread

Peter, Paul and Mary wrote:

Oh, 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.

Oh the fairground were crowded, and Stewball was there;
but he betting was heavy on the bay and the mare.

And away out yonder ahead of them all,
came a-prancin' and a-dancin' my noble Stewball.

I bet on the grey mare, 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 mourns;
I'm a poor boy in trouble, I'm a long way from home.

Oh, Stewball was a race horse, and I wish he were mine;
he never drank water, he always drank wine.