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;
Was not 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 parlor,
   Eating bread and honey.

The maid was in the garden,
   Hanging out the clothes;
When down came a blackbird
   And snapped off her nose.