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 a king?
The king was in the 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 along came a blackbird, and pecked off her nose!
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