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Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian, standing 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“
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 to stubborn to ever show a sign
Because his heart was made of knotty pine
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 lonely Indian, never went nowhere
His heart was set on the Indian maiden 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 old' Kaw-Liga stayed
Kaw-Liga just stands there as lonely as can be
And wishes he was still an old pine tree
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