| Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian standing by the door
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| He fell in love with an Indian maiden over in the antique store
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| Kaw-Liga just stood there and never let it show
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| So she could never answer yes or no
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| He always wore his Sunday feathers and held a tomahawk
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| The maiden wore her beads and braids and hoped someday he’d talk
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| Kaw-Liga too stubborn to ever show a sign
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| Because his heart was made of knoty pine
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| Poor ol' Kaw-Liga he never got a kiss
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| Poor ol' Kaw-Liga he don’t know what he missed
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| Is it any wonder that his face is red
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| Kaw-Liga that poor ol' wooden head
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| Kaw-Liga was a lonely Indian never went nowhere
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| His heart was set on the Indian maiden with the coal black hair
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| Kaw-Liga just stood there and never let it show
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| So she could never answer yes or no
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| And then one day a wealthy customer bought the Indian maid
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| And took her oh so far away but ol' Kaw-Liga stayed
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| Kaw-Liga just stands there as lonely as can be
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| And wishes he was still an old pine tree
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| Poor ol' Kaw-Liga… |