Sing a song of sixpence
A pocket full of rye
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie
When the pie was opened
A shrivelled blackbird spat
"Now come on lads a joke's a joke,
What rotten sod did that?"


Rockabye baby in the treetop
When the wind blows the cradle will rock
I was that baby and what bothers me
Is why mum and dad stuck me up a tree.


From the pen of Richard Digance

Don T.