Four-and-Twenty Blackbirds Baked in a Pie

A Perfect Piece for a Delicious Dish!

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 the parlour,
Eating bread and honey.
The maid was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes;
When down came a blackbird
And pecked off her nose.
who sewed it on again;
He sewed it on so neatly,
the seam was never seen.

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