The Broad Black Brimmer

There’s a uniform hanging
In what’s known as Father’s room
A uniform so simple in it’s style
It has no braid of silk nor gold
No hat with feathered plumes
Yet me Mother has preserved it all the while
One day she made me try it on
A wish of mine for years
«Just a memory of your father, Sean» she said
And as I tried 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
It’s ribbons frayed and torn
By the careless whisk of manies a mountain breeze
An old trench coat that’s a battle stained and worn
And the breeches almost threadbare at the knees
A Sam Browne belt, with a buckle big and strong
And a holster that’s been empty many a day
And when men claim Ireland’s freedom
The one they’ll choose to lead 'em
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA
That uniform was worn by me father long ago
When he reached me mother’s homestead on the run
That uniform was worn in that little church below
When 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 as they bore his body down the rugged heather braes
They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast
It’s just a broad black brimmer
It’s ribbons frayed and torn
By the careless whisk of manies a mountain breeze
An old trench coat that’s a battle stained and worn
And the breeches almost threadbare at the knees
A Sam Browne belt, with a buckle big and strong
And a holster that’s been empty many a day
And when men claim Ireland’s freedom
The one they’ll choose to lead 'em
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA
There’s a uniform hanging
In what’s known as Father’s room
A uniform so simple in it’s style
It has no braid of silk nor gold
No hat with feathered plumes
Yet me Mother has preserved it all the while
One day she made me try it on
A wish of mine for years
«Just a memory of your father, Sean» she said
And as I tried 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
It’s ribbons frayed and torn
By the careless whisk of manies a mountain breeze
An old trench coat that’s a battle stained and worn
And the breeches almost threadbare at the knees
A Sam Browne belt, with a buckle big and strong
And a holster that’s been empty many a day
And when men claim Ireland’s freedom
The one they’ll choose to lead 'em
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA