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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

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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 halfway 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

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