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;
There came a little blackbird
And snapped off her nose.
But there came a Jenny Wren
And popped it on again.
