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;

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 parlour,
Eating bread and honey.


The maid was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes,


When down came a blackbird
And pecked off her nose.