Sing A Song Of Sixpence

 
 
Sing a song of sixpence,
   A pocket 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 parlor,
   Eating bread and honey.

The maid was in the garden,
   Hanging out the clothes;
When down came a blackbird
   And snapped off her nose.

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