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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