The Day Of My Return

My name is John O'Reilly
 and my father worked the fields
 in the hills of cold Killarney
 where I helped him turn the wheels
 my arms grew hard as iron for a boy of seventeen
 and I used my fists for gamblin' in those wet Killarney streets
 Well the ship left for America and I took my pack aboard
 said goodbye to my dear Ireland
 said a prayer to my dear Lord
 Well I fought those sorry guineas
 in the Kitchen they called Hell
 and I fought them for their dollars
 and those guineas paid me well
 Fare thee well fair Dover
 fare thee well, your seasons turn
 my pockets will be jinglin' on the day of my return
 the day of my return
 Well I fought in New York City and I fought the Jersey shores
 my gut stayed full of whiskey
 and my bed stayed full of whores
 they called my right a cannon-ball
 my left they called the same
 and I left them all a-lyin' half in blood and half in shame
 Well I met a man on '32 and he stuck out his hand
 and he offered me a thousand if I'd fall before his man
 I said it could be done but only for another two
 and he smiled at me and nodded as I stuck it in my shoe
 Fare thee well fair Dover
 fare thee well, your seasons turn
 my pockets will be jinglin' on the day of my return
 the day of my return
 Well they rang the bell two times
 before I let him have my nose
 and I let him work my left until my eye was swollen closed
 then I let loose a right that they still talk about to-day
 for that guinea didn't know that I had bet the other way
 Well they covered every dock
 and every port there on the coast
 looking for the double-crosser who had turned into a ghost
 but I was on a train my friend that rode the other way
 and I'll sail from California back to Dublin one fine day
 Fare thee well fair Dover
 fare thee well, your seasons turn
 my pockets will be jinglin' on the day of my return
 the day of my return
 Fine