BROAD BLACK BRIMMER
There's a uniform that's hanging
In what's known as Father's room;
A uniform so simple in it's style.
It has no braid of gold or silk, no hat with feathered plumes,
Yet 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, Sean." 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.
CHORUS: It's just a broad black brimmer,
With its 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 Browne belt, with a buckle big and strong,
A holster that's been empty many a day...but not for long!
And when men claim Ireland's freedom,
The one they'll choose to lead 'em
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA.
It was the uniform been worn by my Father years ago
When he reached me mother's 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 the rugged heather braes
They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast.
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