Lyrics The Broad Black Brimmer of the IRA - The Wolfe Tones

There's a uniform that's hanging in what's known as father's room
A uniform so simple in its style
It's got 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
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, 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
It was the uniform been worn by me father long ago
When he reached me mother's homestead on the run
I was the uniform been worn in that little church below
When oul' Father Mac he blessed the pair as one
After truce ands 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 that rugged heather braes
They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast
It's just a broad black brimmer, 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
There's a uniform that's hanging in what's known as father's room
A uniform so simple in its style
It's got 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
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, 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