White's our refreshing thing, it slips so gently in, it slips so gently, quietly in. Whisking our parchment of gallets, and letting dry little grounds, Plays the rompers of our crones, into nightingale's bones. So let us clink our glasses, come drink, may all your troubles dim, Come drink, fill our glasses to the brim. White's our refreshing thing, it slips so gently in, it slips so gently, quietly in. White's our refreshing thing, it slips so gently in, it slips so gently, quietly in. White's our refreshing thing, it slips so gently in, it slips so gently, quietly in.