It's a damned tough life, full of toil and strife 
We whalermen undergo. 
And we don't give a [bad word] when the gale has stopped 
How hard the wind did blow. 
We're homeward bound! 'Tis a grand old sound 
On a good ship taut and free, 
And we don't give a [bad word] when we drink [bad word] 
With the girls on old Maui. 

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 lands 
We soon shall see again. 
Six hellish months we've 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 
Looms up on old Wahoo. 
Our mast and yards are sheathed with ice 
And our decks are hid from view. 
The horrid tiles of the sea-cut ice 
That deck the Arctic Sea 
Are miles behind in the frozen wind 
Since we steered for old Maui. 

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. 
Even now their big black eyes look out 
Hoping some fine day to see 
Our baggy [bad word] 'fore the gales 
Rolling down to old Maui. 

And now we sail with a favoring gale 
Towards our island home. 
Our mainmast [bad word]  our whaling done, 
And we ain't got far to roam. 
Our stuns'l booms are carried away 
What care we for that sound? 
living gale is after us, 
Thank God we're homeward bound! 

And now we're anchored in the bay 
With the Kanakas all around 
With chants and soft aloha oes 
They greet us homeward bound. 
And now ashore we'll have good fun 
We'll paint them beaches red 
Awaking in the arms of a wahine 
With a big fat aching head.