1. 'Tis a rough, tough life of toil an' strife we whalemen undergo. We don't give a damn when the gale is done how hard the winds do blow. We're homeward bound, 'tis a damn fine sound, with a good ship taut an' free. We don't give a damn when we drink our rum with the girls of old Maui. Ch.: Rolling down to old Maui, me boys, rolling down to old Maui-ee. We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui!
2. Once more we sail with a northerly gale through the ice an' sleet an' rain, And them coconut fronds in them tropic lands, oh, we soon shall see again. Six hellish months have passed away in the cold Kamchatka Sea, But now we're bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui!
3. We'll heave the lead where old Diamond Head looms up on ol' Wahoo, Our masts and yards are sheathed with ice, an' our decks are hid from view, The horrid ice of the sea-cut tiles that deck the Arctic Sea, Are miles behind in the frozen wind since we steered for old Maui.
4. How soft the breeze of the tropic seas now the ice is far astern, And them native maids in them island glades are awaiting our return, An' their big black eyes even now look out, hoping some fine day to see, Our baggy sails running 'fore the gales, rolling down to old Maui.
5. An' now we sail with a favorable gale toward our island home, Our mainyard sprung, all whaling done, an' we ain't got far to roam, Our stuns'l booms are carried away, what care we for that sound? A livin' gale is arter us, thank God we're homeward bound.
6. And now we're anchored in the Bay with the Kanakas all around With chants and soft aloha oes they greet us homeward bound. An' now ashore we'll have good fun, we'll paint them beaches red. Awakin' in the arms of an island maid, with a big, fat, achin' head.