The Broad Black Brimmer of the IRA

There's a uniform that's hanging in what's known as father's room

A uniform so simple in its style

It's got no braid of gold or silk, no hat with feathered plume

Yet me mother has preserved it all the while

One day she made me try it on, a wish of mine for years

In memory of your father, dear, she said

And when I put the Sam Browne on

She was smiling through her tears

As she placed the broad black brimmer on me head

It's just a broad black brimmer, ribbons frayed and torn

By the careless whisk of many's a mountain breeze

An old trench coat that's so battle-stained and worn

And breeches almost threadbare at the knees

A Sam Browne belt with a buckle big and strong

And a holster that's been empty many's a day (but not for long)

But when men claim Ireland's freedom

The one should choose to lead them

Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA

It was the uniform been worn by me father long ago

When he reached me mother's homestead on the run

I was the uniform been worn in that little church below

When oul' Father Mac he blessed the pair as one

After truce ands treaty and the parting of the ways

He wore it when he marched out with the rest (and the best)

And when they bore his body down that rugged heather braes

They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast

It's just a broad black brimmer, ribbons frayed and torn

By the careless whisk of many's a mountain breeze

An old trench coat that's so battle-stained and worn

And breeches almost threadbare at the knees

A Sam Browne belt with a buckle big and strong

And a holster that's been empty many's a day (but not for long)

But when men claim Ireland's freedom

The one should choose to lead them

Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA

There's a uniform that's hanging in what's known as father's room

A uniform so simple in its style

It's got no braid of gold or silk, no hat with feathered plume

Yet me mother has preserved it all the while

One day she made me try it on, a wish of mine for years

In memory of your father, dear, she said

And when I put the Sam Browne on

She was smiling through her tears

As she placed the broad black brimmer on me head

It's just a broad black brimmer, ribbons frayed and torn

By the careless whisk of many's a mountain breeze

An old trench coat that's so battle-stained and worn

And breeches almost threadbare at the knees

A Sam Browne belt with a buckle big and strong

And a holster that's been empty many's a day (but not for long)

But when men claim Ireland's freedom

The one should choose to lead them

Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA