Sing A Song Of Sixpence
By Walter Crane
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty black-birds,
Baked in a pie
When the pie was open'd
The birds began to sing
Was'nt 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;
There came a little blackbird,
And nipp'd off her nose.