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 snapped off her nose