[Verse]
Well, there's a uniform that's hanging in what's known as father's room,
A uniform so simple in its style,
Well, 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,
"It's in memory of your father, son", she said,
And as she placed the Sam Browne on, she was smiling through her tears,
She placed the broad black brimmer on me head.

[Chorus]
It's just a broad black brimmer, with 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 Browne belt with a buckle big and strong,
And a holster that's been empty manys a day, (But not for long!)
For when men claim Ireland's freedom, the one she'll choose to lead them,
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA.

[Verse]
Twas the uniform being worn by me father long ago,
When he reached me mother's homestead on the run,
Twas the uniform me father wore in that little church below,
When old Father Mac, he blessed the pair as one.

And after truce and treaty and the parting of the way,
He wore it when he marched out with the rest, (And the best!)
And as they bore his body down that rugged heathers brae,
They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast.

[Chorus]
It's just a broad black brimmer, with 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 Browne belt with a buckle big and strong,
And a holster that's been empty manys a day, (But not for long!)
For when men claim Ireland's freedom, ah, the one she'll choose to lead them,
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA.