Barbara Mandrell Kaw Liga
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
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 knotty pine
Kaw-liga was a lonely Indian, never went nowhere
His heart was set on the Indian maid 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
