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Ye gallant sportsmen all, come listen to my story
It's of the bold Skewball, that noble racing pony.
Half a marvel was the man who brought bold Skewball over,
He's a diamond of the land and he rolls about in clover.

The horses were brought out, with saddle, whip, and bridle,
And the gentlemen did shout when they saw the noble riders.
And some did shout "Hooray!" The air was thick with curses,
And on the grey Griselda the sportsmen laid their purses.

The trumpet it did sound, they shot off like an arrow,
They scarcely touched the ground, for the going it was narrow.
Then Griselda passed him by, and the gentlemen did holler:
"The grey will win the day, and Skewball, he will follow."

Then halfway 'round the course, up spoke the noble rider:
"I fear we must fall back, for she's going like a tiger."
Then spoke the noble horse, "Ride on, my noble master!
For we're halfway 'round the course, and now we'll see who's faster."

And when they did discourse, bold Skewball flew like lightning.
They chased around the course, and the grey mare she was taken.
"O ride on, my noble lord, for the good two hundred guineas,
The saddle shall be of gold when we pick up our winnings."

Past the winning post, bold Skewball flew quite handy,
and horse and rider both ordered sherry wine and brandy.
And then they drank a health, all to this Griselda,
And all that lost their money on the sporting plains of Kildare.

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