There’s a uniform hanging in what’s known as father’s room,
A uniform so simple in its style.
It has no braid of silk nor gold, nor hat with feathered plume,
But me mother has preserved it all the while.
One day she made me try it on, a wish of mine for years,
“Just in memory of your father, Sean,” she said,
And as I tried the Sam Brown on, she was smiling through her tears
As she placed the broad black brimmer on me head.

It’s just a broad black brimmer, its ribbons frayed and torn
By the carelessness of many's a mountain breeze,
An old trench coat that’s all battle stained and worn,
And the breaches almost threadbare at the knees,
A Sam Brown belt, with a buckle, big and strong,
And a holster that’s been empty many's the day,
And when men claim Ireland’s freedom
The ones they choose to lead 'em
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA.

That Uniform was worn by my father long ago
When he reached me mother’s homestead on the run.
That uniform was worn in the little church below
When 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 as they bore his body down the rugged heather brays,
They placed the broad black brimmer on his head.

It’s just a...etc.

That’s from memory, so any mistakes, please feel free to correct, and also, it is often sung as a sort of rowdy fight song, which takes away from the meaning, of what I have to remember, thinking of when I first heard it, is a meaningful and lovely song, so please! Try it once, as a softer, more - listen to this, kind of a song, Just once for your old pal in the one Big Union, eh?
Larry