THE FRENCH GIRL
c 1966 by Ian Tyson & Sylvia Fricker
Three silver (B-flat)rings (C7)on slim hands (Gm7)wav-(C7)ing
(F) Flash bright in (B-flat)candlelight till Sunday's early (Gm)morn.
We found her room that rainy morning
She took my hand through winding roads and led me home.
Some red French wine when later waking
In her warm hideaway she smiled and combed her hair.
We talked of all, we talked of nothing.
I left with promises to meet, she told me where.
Ah she (C7)laughed each time (F)I asked her name
(C7) Vague promises to (F)meet again
But her (Bflat)friends (F)down (Gm)at (F)the Gm7)French (F)Ca-(Bflat)fe
Had no (Gm7)English words for (C7)me.
So you may find above the border
A girl with silver rings, I never knew her name.
You're bound to lose, she's too much for you
She'll leave you lost some rainy morn, you won't be the same.
You won't be the same