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 the 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.

Along came a blackbird

And snipped off her nose.