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 gale is done
How hard the winds did blow.
For 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.
 [bad word] 
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
Through the ice and wind and rain.
Them native maids, them tropical glades,
We soon shall see again.
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.
 [bad word] 
Once more we sail with a northerly gale
Towards our island home.
Our mainmast [bad word]  our whaling done,
And we ain't go far to roam.
Our stuns'l bones is carried away
What care we for that sound?
living gale is after us,
Thank God we're homeward bound.
 [bad word] 
How soft the breeze through the island trees, 
Now the ice is far astern.
Them native maids, them tropical glades 
Is a-waiting our return.
Even now their big brown eyes look out
Hoping some fine day to see
Our baggy [bad word]  'fore the gales
Rolling down to old Maui.
 [bad word] 
(The following verse is seen in some collections and performances of the song, but is not universal:)
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.
 [bad word]