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;
Wasn’t 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 along came a blackbird
And nipped at her nose!
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 along came a blackbird
And nipped at her nose!
