'Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of ryeFour and twenty blackbirds baking in a pie.When the pie was opened the birds began to singWas not that a dainty dish to set before a king?The king was in his counting house counting out his moneyThe queen was in the parlour eating bread and honeyThe maid was in the garden hanging out the clothesThere came a little blackbird and snapped off her nose.'