OLD MAUl

Tis a rough, tough life of toil an' strife, we whalemen undergo,
We don't give a damn when the gale is done,
how hard the winds do blow;
We're homeward bound it's a damn fine sound,
with a good ship tout an' free,
We don't give a damn when we drink our rum,
with the girls of old Maui,

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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 gaie through the ice
an' sleet an' rain,
And them coconut fronds in them tropic lands,
oh, we soon shall see again,
Six hellish months have passed away in the cold Kamchatka Sea,
But now we're bound from the Arctic ground,
rolling down to old Maui,

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We'll heave the lead where old Diamond Head
looms up on old Wahoo,
Our masts and yards are sheated with ice,
an' our decks are hid from view,
The horrid ice of the sea-cut tiles that deck the Arctic Sea,
Are miles behind the frozen wind since we steered for old Maui,

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An' now we sail with a favorable gale toward our island home,
Our mainyard sprung, our whaling done,
an' we ain't got far to roam,
Our stuns'l booms are carried away,
what care we for that sound?
A livin' gale is after us, thank God we're homeward bound,

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And now we're anchored in the bay
with the Kanakas all around,
With chants and soft aloa oes they greet us homeward bound;
An' now ashore we'll have good fun,
we'll paint them beaches red,
Awakin' in the arms of an island maid,
with a big, fat achin' head,

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