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Kaw-Liga
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Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian, standin' 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. 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 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


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