It’s a damn tough life full of toil and strife.hula dancers of Maui
We whaler men undergo.
And we don’t give a damn when the day 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 damn when we drink our rum 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.
Through the ice and wind and rain.
Them natives 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.

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.

How soft the breeze through the island trees.
Now the ice is far astern.
Them native maids, them tropical glades
is awaiting our return.
Even now their soft brown eyes look out.
Hoping some fine day to see.
Our baggy sails running for the gales.
Rolling down to 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.