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His name was Stewball
It was a white horse
He was my idol
And I was ten years old
Our poor father
To buy this thoroughbred
Had put in the case
To his last franc
He had in his head
To make him a great champion
To settle our debts
And pay for the house
He believed in his luck
He hired Stewball
On a beautiful Sunday
At the Grand Prix of St-Paul
"I know," said my father.
"That Stewball will win"
But, after the river
Stewball has fallen
When the veterinarian
With one blow, he finished him off
I saw my father cry
For the first time
His name was Stewball
It was a white horse
He was my idol
And I was ten years old
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