Sing a song of sixpence
A pocket full of rye.
Four and Twenty Blackbirds,
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened, 
The King began to scream,
As Four and Twenty undead birdsup from that pie did stream.
The King was in the dining hall, 
A-fighting for his life;
The queen was in the parlor,
A-sharpening her knife.
The witch was in the kitchen,
Her pocket full of rye,
Peeking in the dining room
To see the King did die.
And once the King was just a corpse,
And risen birds dispersed,
The Queen did slit the witch’s throat
So’s not to fill her purse.
So just a note to castle kings,
And wife-beating tough guys:
Beware of bats and burning beds
And zombie blackbird pies.
~~**~~
fin
