Sing a song of six pence,
A pocket full of rye;
Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was open'd
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 snapped off her nose !
No comments:
Post a Comment