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."
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.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
