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Sing a Song of Sixpence


Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye;
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened,
The birds began to sing;
Wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the king?

The king was in his counting-house,
Counting out his money;
The Queen was in her parlour
Eating bread and honey;

The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes,
When up came a black-bird
And pecked off her nose.



 


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