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To the tables down at Morey's

To the place where Louis dwells

To the dear old temple bar we love so well . . .

Sing the Whiffenpoofs assembled

With their glasses raised on high,

And the magic of their singing cast it's spell . . .




Yes, the magic of their singing,

Of the songs we love so well,

Shall l wasting and Mavourneen and the rest,

We will serenade our Louis! ( We will serenade our Louis! )

While life and voice shall last!

Then we'll pass and be forgotten like the rest . . .



We're poor little lambs


Who have lost our way

Baa Baa Baa!

We're little black sheep

Who have gone astray

Baa Baa Baa!

Gentlemen songsters off on a spree

( Doomed . . . ) Doomed from here to eternity

( Lord . . . ) Lord, have mercy on such as we

Baa Baa Baa!

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