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