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 black bird
And pecked off her nose!
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