Sing a song of sixpence,
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 all his money;
The queen was in the parlor,
Eating bread with honey.

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