SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE
SING a song of sixpence,
Pockets full of rye;
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing;
Was not that a dainty dish
To set before the king?
The king was in his counting-house
Counting out his money;
The queen was in the parlour,
Eating bread and honey;
The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes,
Down came a blackbird,
And snapped off her nose.
