It's a [bad word] tough life full of toil and strife
We whalermen undergo
And we don't give a [bad word] when the day is done
How hard the winds did blow
Cause we're homeward bound from the Arctic ground
With a good ship taut and free
And we don't give a [bad word] when we drink [bad word] With the girls of Old Maui

Rolling down to Old Maui, me boys
Rolling down to Old Maui
We're homeward bound from the Arctic Ground
Rolling down to Old Maui

Once more we sail with a Northerly gale
Towards our island home
Our mainmast [bad word]  our whaling done
And we ain't got far to roam
Six hellish months have passed away
On the cold Kamchatka sea
But now we're bound from the Arctic ground
Rolling down to Old Maui

Once more we sail the Northerly gale
Through the ice, and wind, and rain
Them native maids, them tropical glades,
We soon shall see again
Even now their soft brown eyes look out
Hoping some fine day to see
Our baggy [bad word] 'fore the gales
Rolling down to Old Maui.

How soft the breeze through the island trees,
Now the ice is far astern.
Them native maids, them tropical glades
Is awaiting our return.
I [bad word] anchoured at coast shore
And paint them beaches red
Awakening in the arms of an island maid
With a big fat aching head