Sing a song of six pence
Sing a song of six pence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty black birds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing,
Oh, wasn’t that a dainty dish
To set before the king.
The king was in his counting house
Counting out is 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 black bird
And snipped off her nose.
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