he sings a great old song called 'Kawliga
' (ku-lie-jah) about one of those wooden indian
s that sit in front of tobacco
, the indian statue, fell in love with a beautiful, porcelain
, indian maiden
that was in the shop window. he never told the maiden how he felt, so before long it becomes a story of lost love
as the maiden is bought by some passers-by and never seen again.
"..poor ole Kawliga
e ne'er got no kiss
poor ole Kawliga
e don' know what e miss't
is it any wonder
that his face is red
dat poor ole wooden head..."