In the kitchen, I’ll make me a quick little bread
With some flour and butter and egg;
Add the buttermilk, salt, yes, and soda that bakes
And sugar to sweeten the taste.
Then slide in the oven and bake for an hour
At four-twenty-five, like it said.
Then just dust it with flour, and Begorrah, it is
A sweet loaf of my Irish Soda Bread.

My Irish Soda Bread
With raisins I embed,
And the caraway seeds
Give spice that it needs
To my Irish Soda Bread.
My Irish Soda Bread!
I’ll eat you till I’m dead.
With the butter spread thick,
No bread is as quick:
My flavorful Irish Soda Bread!

You may eat of your whole wheat and Wonder Bread, too,
Or your cornbread or seven-grain kind.
You may chew pumpernickel or matzoh or Ritz
Or the pita bread, too; I won’t mind.
On March seventeenth, my tastebuds will speak
The flavor dear Erin has spread.
If my oven won’t heat, in the store I will seek
A loaf of my Irish Soda Bread!

My Irish Soda Bread!
The crust goes to my head.
And the body so soft,
My palate’s aloft
For my Irish Soda Bread.
My Irish Soda Bread!
Your calories I dread!
But I’ll eat anyway—
It’s Saint Paddy’s Day—
My ethnic’lly Irish Soda Bread!