Sing a song of sixpence,A pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds,Baked in a pie.
When the pie was openedThe birds began to sing; Wasn’t that a dainty dish,To set before the king.
Sing a song of sixpence,A pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds,Baked in a pie.
When the pie was openedThe birds began to sing; Wasn’t that a dainty dish,To set before the king.