O, the good-wife will be singing
When her meal is all but done —
Now all my bannocks have I baked,
I've baked them all but one;
And I'll dust the board to bake it,
I'll bake it with a spell —
O, it's Finlay's little bannock
For going to the well.
The bannock on the brander
Smells sweet for your desire —
O my crisp ones I will count not
On two sides of the fire;
And not a farl has fallen
Some evil to foretell!—
O it's Finlay's little bannock
For going to the well.
The bread would not be lasting,
‘ Twould crumble in your hand;
When fairies would be coming here
To turn the meal to sand —
But what will keep them dancing
In their own green dell?
O it's Finlay's little bannock
For going to the well.
Now, not a fairy finger
Will do my baking harm —
The little bannock with the hole,
O it will be the charm.
I knead it, I knead it,‘ twixt my palms,
And all the bairns I tell —
O it's Finlay's little bannock
For going to the well.