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.