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!