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It’s a rough tough life, full of toil and strife
We whalers undergo.
And we don’t give a damn when the gale is done
How hard the winds do blow.
So we’re homeward bound! ‘Tis a damn fine sound
with a good ship taut and free,
And we don’t give a damn when we drink our rum
With the girls on old Maui.
Ref:

Rolling down to old Maui, my boys,
Rolling down to old Maui.
We’re homeward bound from the arctic ground
Rolling home to old Maui.

Once more we sail with a northerly gale
Through the ice and sleet and rain.
And them coconut fronds in them tropic isles
We soon shall see again.
Six hellish months have passed away
In the cold Kamchatka sea,
And now we’re bound from the arctic ground,
Rolling down to old Maui.

We’ll heave the lead where old Diamondhead
Loose up on old Wahoo.
Our mast and yards are sheated with ice
And our decks are hidden from view.
Ah, the horrid tiles of the sea-cut ice
Now the deck the Arctic Sea
Are miles behind in the frozen wind
When we steer for old Maui.

How warm the breeze of the tropic seas
Now the ice is far astern,
And them Hawaiian maids on them island glades
Are awaiting our return.
And their big black eyes even now look out
Hoping someday they will see
Our baggy sails running ‘fore the gales
Rolling down to old Maui.

Once more we sail with a favourable gale
Aye, towards our island home.
Our mainmast sprung, our whaling done,
And we ain’t got far to roam.
Our studs’l booms are carried away
What care we for that sound?
A living gale is after us,
Thank God we’re homeward bound!

And now we’re anchored in the bay
With Kanakas all around
With chats and stuff, aloha way
They greet us homeward bound.
And now ashore we’ll have good fun
We’ll paint them beaches red
Lying in the arms of Hawaiian maids
With a big fat aching head

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