"'Tis a rough, tough life, of toil and strife, we whalemen undergo,
and we don't give a damn, when the gale is done, how well the wind do blow.
We're homeward bound, "'tis a damn fine sound, 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, rolling down to Old Maui.
We're homeward bound, from the Arctic ground, rolling down to Old Maui.
Once more we sail, with a gnarly gale, through the ice and sleet and rain,
and them coconut fronds, in them tropic lands, we soon shall see them again.
Six hellish months have passed away, in the cold Antigua 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.
And now we sail, with a favourable gale, toward our island home.
Our main yacht's sprung, all whaling done, and we ain't got far to roam.
Our stuntsail booms are carried away, what care we for that sound?
A living gale is after us, thank God we're homeward bound,
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.
And now we're anchored in the bay, with the canicas all around.
With chance and soft aloha aye, they greet us homeward bound.
And now ashore we'll have good fun, we'll paint those beaches red.
Awaken in the arms of a wahine, with a big fat aching head,
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.
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.