To the tables down at Morey's
To the place where Louis dwells
To that 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 a spell
Yes the magic of their singing
Of the songs we love so well
Sing, "A waisting," and "Mauvaureen" and the rest
We'll serenade our Louis
While voice and life shall last
Then we'll pass and be forgotten with the rest
We are poor little lambs
Who have gone astray
Baa, Baa, Baa;
We are little black sheep
Who have gone astray
Baa, Baa, Baa
Gentlemen songsters off on a spree
Doomed from here to eternity
Lord have mercy on such as we
Baa, Baa, Baa