(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.      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.      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...