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You gallant sportsmen all, come listen to my story |
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Its of the bold Skewball, that noble racin' pony |
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Oh, the marvel was the man, who brought bold Skewball over |
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He's the diamond of the land and he rolls about in clover |
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The horses where brought out, with saddle whip and bridle |
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And the gentlemen did shout, when they saw the noble rider |
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And some did shout hooray, the air was thick with curses |
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And on the gray Griselda, the sportsmen laid their purses |
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The trumpet it did sound, they shot off like an arrow |
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They scarcely touched the ground, for the going it was narrow |
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Then Griselda passed him by, the gentlemen did holler |
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The gray will win the day, and Skewball he will follow |
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Then halfway round the course, up spoke the noble rider |
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I fell we must fall back for she's going like a tiger. |
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And when they did discourse, bold Skewball flew like lightning |
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They chased around the course, and the gray mare she was taken |
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Ride on my noble lord, for they have 200 guineas |
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The settle shall be of gold when we become the winners |
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Past the winning post bold Skewball drew quite handy |
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Horse and rider both ordered sherry wine and brandy |
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And then they drank the health of the gallant Miss Griselda |
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And all that lost their money on the sporting plains of Kildare |
