The Broad Black Brimmer

There’s a uniform that’s hanging
In what’s known as father’s room
A uniform so simple in its 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
That’s a 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 its 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 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 mothers 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 breas

It’s just a broad black brimmer
With its 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