Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian standin' 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



Poor ol' Kaw-Liga he never got a kiss

Poor ol' Kaw-Liga he don't know what he missed

Is it any wonder that his face is red

Kaw-Liga that poor ol' wooden head



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 ol' Kaw-Liga...



And then one day a wealthy customer bought the Indian maid

And took her oh so far away but ol' Kaw-Liga stayed

Kaw-Liga just stands there as lonely as can be

And wishes he was still an old pine tree

Poor ol' Kaw-Liga...