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; 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 pecked off her nose. There was such a commotion, that little Jenny wren; Flew down into the garden, and put it back again. Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four and twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie.
