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 parlor
Eating bread and honey

The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes
Down came a blackbird
And popped upon her nose