Kaw-Liga

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 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 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 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...