The Broad Black Brimmer

There´s an uniform that´s hanging in what´s known as

father´s room

An uniform so simple in his style

It has no braid of gold or silk no hat with feathered

plume

Yet the 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, son" she said

And when I put the Sam Browne on she was smiling with

the 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 many a mountain breeze

An old trench coat that´s battle stained and worn

And breeches almost threadbare at the knees

A Sam Brown belt with buckle big and strong

A holster that´s been empty many´s a day

When men claim Ireland´s freedom the one who'll 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 mothers homestead on the run

It was the uniform me father wore 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 when they bore his body down that rugged heather

braes

They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast