Tono: D
Introducción:
Dm
Kawliga, was a wooden Indian standing by the door
He fell in love with an Indian maid over in the antique store
A7
Kawliga just stood there and never let it show
Dm
So she could never answer yes or no
He always wore his Sunday feathers and held a tomahawk
D
Poor ol' kawliga, he never got a kiss
G
Poor ol' Kawliga, he don't know what he missed
D A7
Is it any wonder that his face is red
D Dm
Kawliga, that poor ol' wooden head
Kawliga, was a lonely Indian never went nowhere