"Sing a song o' sixpence
Pocket full of rye;
Four-and-twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing
Was not this a dainty dish
To set before the King?
The King was in his 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 nipped off her nose."
Sing a song o' sixpence
A pocket full of rye;
I know another blackbird
Baked in a pie.
The maid it was who baked it
With all her might and main,
Resolved there'd be one blackbird
That shouldn't nip again.