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."
CHORUS: 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 some day he'd talk. Kaw-liga, too stubborn to ever show a sign, Because his heart was made of knotty pine.
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 ol' Kaw-liga stayed. Kaw-liga just stands there as lonely as can be, And wishes he was still an old pine tree.