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I sang a song of sixpence And pocketed some rye Felt bad about the blackbirds Getting baked inside the pie And when the pie was opened Amazed that they could fly
To sing before a king it seems Who liked to count his money Forget about the fat old queen Filling out on bread and honey But even in my tender years It seemed more weird than funny
And then there was the parlour maid In the garden hanging clothes When down came a well-baked bird And pecked off her little nose. Jenny Wren put it back again What happened with those crows?
There’s Mary and her Little Lamb Mother Goose who had a few Old Mother Hubbard, The Duke of York The Lady who lived in a Shoe The pie man, the piper, podgy George Tom Thumb and Little Boy Blue
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