Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye;
Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was open'd, the birds began to sing.

Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before a king?
The king was in the 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 dickie bird, and popped upon her nose!



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