Kaw-liga, was a wooden Indian
Standing by the door
He fell in love with an Indian maid
Over in the antique store
Kaw-liga
Just stood there and never let it show
So she could never answer "yes" or "no"
He always wore his Sunday feathers
And held a tomahawk
The maiden wore her beads and braids
And hoped someday he'd talk
Kaw-liga
Too stubborn to ever show a sign
Because his heart was made of knotty pine
Poor old Kaw-liga
He never got a kiss
Poor old Kaw-liga
He don't know what he missed
Is it any wonder
That his face is red
Kaw-liga, that poor old wooden head
Kaw-liga, was a lonely Indian
Never went nowhere
His heart was set on the Indian maiden
With the coal black hair
Kaw-liga
Just stood there and never let it show
So she could never answer "yes" or "no"
Then one day a wealthy customer
Bought the Indian maid
And took her, oh, so far away
But old Kaw-liga stayed
Kaw-liga
Just stands there as lonely as can be
And wishes he was still an old pine tree
Poor old Kaw-liga
He never got a kiss
Poor old Kaw-liga
He don't know what he missed
Is it any wonder
That his face is red
Kaw-liga, that poor old wooden head