
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
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