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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; Was not that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The king was in the parlor, counting out his money; The queen was in the kitchen, eating bread and honey ; The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes; There came a little blackbird, and nipped off her nose. |
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