he sings a great old song called '
Kawliga' (ku-lie-jah) about one of those
wooden indians that sit in front of
tobacco shops.
Kawliga, 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
Kawliga
dat poor ole wooden head..."