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 a 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,

There came a little blackbird,

And nipped her on the nose.