Kawliga, was a wooden Indian standing by the door
He fell in love with an Indian maid over in the antique store
Kawliga, 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 someday he'd talk
Kawliga, too stubborn to ever show a sign
Because his heart was made of knotty pine.

Poor ol' Kawliga, he never got a kiss
Poor ol' Kawliga, he don't know what he missed
Is it any wonder that his face is red
Kawliga, that poor ol' wooden head

Kawliga, was a lonely Indian never went nowhere
His heart was set on the Indian maiden with the coal black hair
Kawliga, just stood there and never let it show
So she could never answer yes or no.

Then one day a wealthy customer bought the Indian maid
And took her, oh, so far away, but ol' Kawliga stayed
Kawliga, just stands there as lonely as can be
And wishes he was still an old pine tree.

Poor ol' Kawliga, he never got a kiss
Poor ol' Kawliga, he don't know what he missed
Is it any wonder that his face is red
Kawliga, that poor ol' wooden head