| You gallant sportsmen all, come listen to my story
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| It’s of the bold Skewball, that noble racing pony
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| Arthur Marvel was the man that 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 were brought out with saddle, whip and bridle
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| And the gentlemen did shout when they saw the noble riders
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| And some did shout hurray, the air was thick with curses
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| And on the grey 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 and the gentlemen did holler
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| The grey 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 fear we must fall back for she’s going like a tiger
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| Up spoke the noble horse, ride on my noble master
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| For we’re half way round the course and now we’ll see who’s faster
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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 grey mare she was taken
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| Ride on my noble lord, for the good two hundred guineas
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| The saddle shall be of gold when we pick up our winnings
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| Past the winning post, bold Skewball proved quite handy
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| And horse and rider both ordered sherry, wine and brandy
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| And then they drank a health unto Miss Griselda
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| And all that lost their money on the sporting plains of Kildare |