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 plume
Yet me mother has preserved it all the while
One day she made me try it on
A wish of mine for years
"Just 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
With it's ribbons frayed and torn
By the careless whisk of
Many's a mountain breeze
An old trench coat that's
All battle-stained and worn
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees
A Sam Browne belt with the
Buckle big and strong
And a holster that's been
Empty many's a day
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 being worn
By me father long 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 that rugged heather braes
They placed the broad black
Brimmer on his breast

It's just a broad black brimmer
With it's ribbons frayed and torn
By the careless whisk of
Many's a mountain breeze
An old trench coat that's
All battle-stained and worn
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees
A Sam Browne belt with the
Buckle big and strong
And a holster that's been
Empty many's a day (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

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): DP, Joe Giltrap, Wes McGhee