Sing a Song of SixpenceSing 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 her parlour Eating bread and honey;
The maid was in the garden Hanging out the clothes, When up came a black-bird And pecked off her nose.
|