Sing a song of six pence

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Sing a song of six pence,

A pocket full of rye,

Four and twenty black birds

Baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened

The birds began to sing,

Oh, wasn’t that a dainty dish

To set before the king.

The king was in his counting house

Counting out is money,

The queen was in the parlor

Eating bread and honey,

The maid was in the garden

Hanging out the clothes,

When along came a black bird

And snipped off her nose.

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