There's a uniform that's hanging

In what's known as Father's room

A uniform so simple in it's style

It has no braid of gold or silk

no hat with feathered plumes

Yet 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, Sean" she said.

And when I put the Sam Browne on

she was smiling with the tears

As she placed the broad black brimmer on my head.



Chorus:

It's just a broad black brimmer

With its ribbons frayed and torn

By the careless whisk of many a mountain breeze

An old trench coat that's battle stained and worn

And breeches almost threadbare at the knees

A Sam Browne belt, with a buckle big and strong

A holster that's been empty many a day... but not for long!

And when men claim Ireland's freedom

The one they'll choose to lead 'em

Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA



It was the uniform been worn by my father years ago

When he reached me mother's homestead on the run

It was the uniform me father wore

in that little church below

When oul' Father Mac he blessed the pair as one

And after Truce and Treaty and the parting of the ways

He wore it when he marched out with the rest

And when they bore his body down the rugged heather braes

They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast