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 up came a blackbird

And snapt off her nose.