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 wooden Indian standing by the door
He fell in love with an Indian maiden over in the antique store
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 tommy-hawk
The maiden wore her beads & braids and hoped someday he'd talk
Too stubborn to ever shown a sign because his heart is made of knotty pine
Kaw-Liga was a lonely Indian, never went nowhere
His heart was set on the Indian maid with the coal coal coal black hair
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
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