Lyrics

You gallant sportsmen all, pray listen to me story It's of the bold Skewball, that noble racing pony Arthur Marvel was the man that brought bold Skewball over He's the diamond of the land and he rolls around in clover Oh, the cattle were brought out with saddle, whip and bridle And the gentlemen did shout when they saw the gallant riders And some did cry hooray and the air was thick with curses And on the grey Griselda the sportsmen laid their purses Oh, the trumpet it did sound and they shot off like an arrow They scarcely touched the ground and the going it was narrow But Griselda passed him by and the sportsmen all did holler "Oh, the grey will win the day and Skewball he can follow." In the middle of the track up spoke the noble rider "I fear we must fall back for she's running like a tiger." Up spoke the gallant horse, "Ride on, ride on, my master For we're half way round the course and now you'll see who's faster." And as they did discourse, bold Skewball flew like lightning He dashed around the course and the grey mare she was taken "Bet on my noble lord, for the good two hundred guineas And me saddle shall be of gold when we pick up our winnings." Well, past the winning post, bold Skewball won so handy And horse and rider both called for sherry wine and brandy And they drank to that grey mare, the gallant Miss Griselda And all who'd lost their money on the sporting plains of Kildare