I seek full text of Yale College Whiffenproof song

I:
"The Whiffenpoof Song"
To the tables down at Mory's
To the place where Louie 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 singing
Of the songs we love so well.

Shall I wasting and Mavourneen and the rest -
We will serenade our Louie
While life and voice shall last
Then we'll pass and be forgotten with the rest.

We are 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
Damned from here to eternity
God have mercy on such as we;
Baa! Baa! Baa!
http://persweb.direct.ca/fstringe/oz/t25088.html
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II.The Yale University Whiffenpoofs are the senior a cappella (without
instrumental accompaniment) men's singing group in the United States.
The Whiffenpoof Song was written for the Whiffs when they were formed
in 1909, but the song did not reach national prominence until 1946,
when versions by Tex Beneke, Rudy Vallee and Robert Merrill hit the
charts. Belatedly, Bing recorded Old Whiff on June 5, 1947 with the
Fred Waring Glee Club. Bing's version topped all the others, reaching
as high as #7 in December. Bing and Bob Hope sang an excerpt from the
song accompanied by a flock of sheep in their 1953 flick Road to Bali.

To the tables down at Mory's
To the place where Louie 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 singing of the songs we love so well
"Shall I Wasting" and "Mavourneen" and the rest
We will serenade our Louie while life and voice shall last
Then we'll pass and be forgotten with 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

Gentleman songsters off on a spree
Doomed from here to eternity
Lord have mercy on such as we
Baa, baa, baa

http://www.kcmetro.cc.mo.us/pennvalley/biology/lewis/crosby/whiffenpoof.html

Dear martekp-ga,
This website has a treat for you.  It allows you to click an icon and
listen to Bing Crosby's version of this song.

I hope you are satisfied with this answer.
If not, please let me know.

Brad-ga

Fantastic response.   Delighted you included the original Kipling as
well as the song text.   Thanks for correcting my spelling

A search for "site:yale.edu Whiffenpoof" will give you some specific
information from Yale's website.

Here's an additional bit of info:

"The Whiffenpoof Song" is a parody of Rudyard Kipling's
"Gentlemen-Rankers."

http://whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au/words/authors/K/KiplingRudyard/verse/volumeXI/gentlemenrankers.html

Gentlemen-Rankers
Rudyard Kipling

TO THE legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
    To my brethren in their sorrow overseas,
Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, machinely crammed,
    And a trooper of the Empress, if you please.
Yea, a trooper of the forces who has run his own six horses,
    And faith he went the pace and went it blind,
And the world was more than kin while he held the ready tin,
    But to-day the Sergeant’s something less than kind.
We’re poor little lambs who’ve lost our way,
                Baa! Baa! Baa!
        We’re little black sheep who’ve gone astray,
                Baa—aa—aa!
        Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree,
        Damned from here to Eternity,
        God ha’ mercy on such as we,
                Baa! Yah! Bah! 
Oh, it’s sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to empty kitchen slops,
    And it’s sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell,
To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental hops
    And thrash the cad who says you waltz too well.
Yes, it makes you cock-a-hoop to be “Rider” to your troop,
    And branded with a blasted worsted spur,
When you envy, O how keenly, one poor Tommy being cleanly
    Who blacks your boots and sometimes calls you “Sir”. 

If the home we never write to, and the oaths we never keep,
    And all we know most distant and most dear,
Across the snoring barrack-room return to break our sleep,
    Can you blame us if we soak ourselves in beer?
When the drunken comrade mutters and the great guard-lantern gutters
    And the horror of our fall is written plain,
Every secret, self-revealing on the aching white-washed ceiling,
    Do you wonder that we drug ourselves from pain? 

We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to Love and Truth,
     We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung,
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.
    God help us, for we knew the worst too young!
Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that brought the sentence,
    Our pride it is to know no spur of pride,
And the Curse of Reuben holds us till an alien turf enfolds us
    And we die, and none can tell Them where we died.
We’re poor little lambs who’ve lost our way,
                Baa! Baa! Baa!
        We’re little black sheep who’ve gone astray,
                Baa—aa—aa!
        Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree,
        Damned from here to Eternity,
        God ha’ mercy on such as we,
                Baa! Yah! Bah!