Stewball
Stewball, he was a good horse and he held a high head
And the hair on his foretop was as fine as silk thread.
His bridle was silver, 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 iron gray mare.
Come all of you gamblers, from near and from far,
Don't bet your gold dollars on the iron gray mare.
Most likely she'll stumble, most likely she'll fall
But you never will lose boys, on my noble Stewball
As they were a-riding, about hallway around,
The gray mare, she stumbled and fell to the ground.
And way out yonder, ahead of them all
Come a dancin' and a prancin', my noble Stewball.
Stewball, he was a good horse, and he held a high head
And the hair on his foretop was as fine as silk thread.
Stewball
Stewball, ele era um bom cavalo e mantinha a cabeça erguida
E a crina dele era fina como fio de seda.
A sua brida era de prata, a crina, era de ouro
E o valor da sua sela nunca foi contado.
Oh, a feira estava lotada e Stewball estava lá
Mas as apostas estavam pesadas na égua cinza de ferro.
Venham todos vocês, apostadores, de perto e de longe,
Não apostem seus dólares de ouro na égua cinza de ferro.
É bem provável que ela tropece, é bem provável que caia
Mas vocês nunca vão perder, rapazes, com meu nobre Stewball.
Enquanto eles cavalgavam, pela metade do caminho,
A égua cinza tropeçou e caiu no chão.
E lá adiante, à frente de todos eles
Veio dançando e pulando, meu nobre Stewball.
Stewball, ele era um bom cavalo e mantinha a cabeça erguida
E a crina dele era fina como fio de seda.
Composição: Jörgen Elofsson