To the tables down at Mory'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 casts its spell,Yes, the magic of their singingof the songs we love so well,
"Shall I, wasting," and "Mavourneen," and the rest;We shall serenade our LouisWhile life and voice shall last,Then we'll pass and be forgotten with the rest.
We're poor little lambs who have lost their way:Baa! Baa! Baa!We're little black sheep who have gone astray:Baa! Baa! Baa!
Gentlemen songsters off on a spree,Dancing and singing eternally;Pray have mercy on such as we:Baa! Baa! Baa!
