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 knoty 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 maid
With the coal black hair
Kaw-Liga
Just stood there and never let it show
So she could never answer yes or no
And 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
Kaw-Liga
That poor old wooden head