The Day Of My Return Chords by Mike Denver

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My name is John O'Reilly and my father [A] worked the fields in the hills of [E] old Killarney where I helped him [B] turn the wheels.
[E] My arms grew hard as iron for a boy of [A] seventeen and I used my fists [E] for gambling in [B] those wet [E] Killarney streets.
_ _ _ _ _ Well, the ship left for America and I took my [A] packing board, said goodbye to my [E] dear iron, said a prayer to my [B] dear lord.
[E] Well, I fought those sorry guineas in the kitchen, they [A] called hell, and I fought them for [E] their dollars and [B] those guineas paid [E] me well. _
Fare thee well, fair Dover, fare thee well, your [A] season's turned, my pockets will [E] be chingling on the day of my [C#m] return, [B] the day of my [E] return. _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _
[E] _ _ _ _ [C#m] _ _ [B] _ _
[E] _ _ Well, I fought in New York City and I fought the [A] Jersey Shores, nightcuts made full [E] of whiskey and night beds made full [B] of whores.
[E] They called my right a cannonball, my left they [A] called the same, and I left them all [E] a-lying half [B] in blood and half [E] in shame.
Well, I met a man on 32 and he stuck out [A] his hand and he offered me [E] a thousand if I'd fall before [B] he's man, [E] but I said it could be done but only for another [A] two.
And he smiled at me [E] and nodded as [B] I stuck it in [E] my shoe. _
Fare thee well, fair Dover, fare thee well, your [A] season's turned, my pockets will [E] be chingling on the day of my [C#m] return, [B] the day of my [E] return. _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _
[E] _ _ _ _ [C#m] _ _ [B] _ _
[E] _ _ Well, they rang the bell two times before I let him have [A] my nose, and I let him work [E] my left until my eye was swollen [B] closed.
[E] Then I let loose the right that they still talk about [A] today, but that kid he didn't [E] know that I [B] had bet the [E] other way.
Well, they covered every dock and every port there on [A] the coast looking for the [E] double-crosser who had turned into [B] a ghost.
[E] But I was on a train, my friend, that rode the other [A] way, and I sailed from [E] California back [B] to Dublin one [E] fine day.
Fare thee well, fair Dover, fare thee well, your [A] season's turned, my pockets will [E] be chingling on the day of my [C#m] return, [E] the day of my return.
_ Fare thee well, fair Dover, fare thee well, your [A] season's turned, my pockets will [E] be chingling on the day of my [C#m] return, [E] the day of my return. _ _ _ _ _ _
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_ _ [C#m] _ _ [B] _ _ [E] _ _
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[A] _ _ _ _ [E] _ _ _ _
[C#m] _ _ [B] _ _ [E] The day of my return.
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