It's an ample share of toil and care we whaleman undergo
Through many a blow of frost and hail and bitter squalls of snow
The horrid isles of ice cut tiles that deck the Polar sea
But now we're bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui

Once more we're blown by the northern gales, and bounding o'er the main;
And the green hills of them tropical isles we soon shall see again
Oh, it's many a day we toiled away in that cold Kamchatka Sea
And we'll think of that as we laugh and chat with the girls of old Maui