Rolling Down to Old Maui
sł. i mel. trad. 'Tis a rough, tough life of toil and strife,
Rolling down to old Maui! We're homeward bound from the arctic ground, Rolling down to old Maui! Through the ice and sleet and rain: And the coconut fronds in the tropic lands, We soon shall see again! Six hellish months we've passed away, In the cold Kamchatka Sea, But now we're bound from the Arctic ground, Rolling down to old Maui!
Looms up o'er old O'ahu! Our masts and yards are sheathed with ice, And our decks are hid from view: And the horrid ice of the sea-cut tiles That deck the Arctic Sea, Are miles behind in the frozen wind, Since we steered for old Maui!
owards our island home: Our main yard sprung, our whaling done, And we ain't got far to roam! Our studding-sails booms are carried away, What care we for that sound? A living gale is after us, Thank Christ we're homeward bound!
Now the ice is far astern: And those native maids in the island glades Are awaiting our return. Even now their big black eyes look out, Hoping some fine day to sea, Our baggy sails, running 'fore the gales, Rolling down to old Maui!
With the big kanakas all around: With chants and soft "Aloha oe's" They greet us now we're found: And now ashore, we'll have good fun, We'll paint those beaches red; Awaking in the arms of a wahine, With a big fat aching head!
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