Kaw-liga was a wooden Indian standing by the door

He fell in love with an Indian maiden

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 some day 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 miss

Is it any wonder that his face is red

Kaw-Liga that poor old wooden head

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 miss

Is it any wonder that his face is red

Kaw-Liga that poor old wooden head

Kaw-Liga