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.

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.

--- Instrumental ---

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 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.

Kaw-Liga, Kaw-Liga..

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Written by: Fred Rose / Hank Williams. Isn't this right? Let us know.