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by Crystalwizard

Sing a song of sixpence,
Someone tell me, what is that?
Could it be a wooden nickel?
Could it be a mess of cats?
Do you eat it, spend it, sniff it?
Does it stick to you like glue?
Does a sixpence come with pudding?
Is it fried or boiled or blue?

Sing a song of sixpence,
I really don’t know how.
Is a sixpence something large,
That’d you’d find upon a cow?
Would you stroke or pet or flay it?
Do you roll it ’round the floor?
Is a sixpence good for nothing,
or for keeping shut a door?

Sing a song of sixpence,
a pocket full of rye.
That’s worse, oh please don’t tell me
That the pocket in your pants
Is full of some hard liquor
Or a cup of flour perchance.

I can’t begin to fathom,
Why a song like this is sung.
I swear that those who wrote it,
Should have their necks all wrung!

Copyright © 2007 by Crystalwizard

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