There's a uniform that's hanging in what's known as fathers room
A uniform so simple in it's style
It's got no braid of gold, nor silk, nor 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
This in memory of your father Sean she said
And when I put the sam brown on, she was smiling through her tears
As she placed the broad black brimmer on my head
It's just a broad black brimmer with ribbons frayed and torn
By the careless whisk of manys about a 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 (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
It was the uniform be worn by my father long ago
When he reached me mother's homestead on the run
It was the uniform be worn 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 the best)
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 with ribbons frayed and torn
Made 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 (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