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 the counting-house, Counting out his money; The Queen was in the parlour, Eating bread and honey; The maid was in the garden, Hanging out the clothes; When down came a little bird And snapped off her nose !

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