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