(Hank Williams - Fred Rose)
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.
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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.
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.
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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...
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