To the tables down at moreys
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 its 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 well pass and be forgotten like the rest . . .

Were poor little lambs
Who have lost our way
Baa baa baa!
Were 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!