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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