There's a uniform thats hangin' in what's known as father's room
A uniform so simple in its style
It has no fancy braid of gold, 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, John she said
And as they put the Sam Brown on
She was smiling through the 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 manys a mountain breeze
An old trench coat that's so battle-stained and worn
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees
A Sam Brown belt with a buckle big and strong
And a holster that's been empty manys a day
When men claim Ireland's freedom
The one she'll choose to lead 'em
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA
It was the uniform worn by me father long ago
When he reached me mother's homestead on the run
It was the uniform he wore 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 when they bore his body down on that rugged heather braes
They placed the broad black brimmer on his chest
It's just a broad black brimmer
It's ribbons frayed and torn by the careless whisk of manys a mountain breeze
An old trench coat that's so battle-stained and worn
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees
A Sam Brown belt with a buckle big and strong
And a holster that's been empty manys a day
When men claim Ireland's freedom
The one she'll choose to lead 'em
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA

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