Baa, baa, black sheep
Have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir
Three bags full
One for my master
And one for my dame
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane
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 dandy dish to set before the king?
Now Old King Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl
And he called for his fiddlers three.
And every fiddler he had a fine fiddle,
As fine as it could be,
And a very fine fiddle had he, had he,
And a very fine fiddle had he
For Old King Cole was a merry old soul
