[Verse]
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.

[Chorus]
It's just a broad black brimmer, ribbons frayed and torn,
By the careless whisk of manys a mountain breeze,
An old trench coat that's all battle-stained and worn,
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees.

A Sam Browne belt with the 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 she'll choose to lead them,
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA.

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

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 that rugged heather braes,
They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast.

[Chorus]
It's just a broad black brimmer, ribbons frayed and torn,
By the careless whisk of manys a mountain breeze,
An old trench coat that's all battle-stained and worn,
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees.

A Sam Browne belt with the 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 she'll choose to lead them,
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA.

[Verse]
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.

[Chorus]
It's just a broad black brimmer, ribbons frayed and torn,
By the careless whisk of manys a mountain breeze,
An old trench coat that's all battle-stained and worn,
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees.

A Sam Browne belt with the 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 she'll choose to lead them,
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA.