Colliger was a wooden Indian
standing by the door
He fell in love with an Indian
made over in the antique store
Colliger just stood there
and never let it show
So she could never answer yes or no
He always wore her Sunday feathers
and held a tomahawk
The maiden wore her beads and braids
and hoped someday he'd talk
Colliger
Too stubborn to ever show a sign
Because his heart was
made of naughty pie
Poor ol' Colliger, he never got a kiss
Poor ol' Colliger,
he don't know what he missed
Is it any wonder that his face is red?
Colliger, that poor old wooden
head
Colliger was a lonely Indian,
never went nowhere
His heart was set on the Indian
made with the coal black hair
Colliger just stood there
and never let it show
So she could never answer yes or no
And then one day a wealthy customer
Bought the Indian maid
He took her oh so far away
But old Colliger stayed Colliger
Just stands there as lonely as can be
And wishes he was still an old pine tree
Poor old Colligia, he never got a kiss
Poor old Colligia,
he don't know what he missed
Is it any wonder that his face is red?
Colligia, that poor old wooden head
Poor old Colligia,
he never got a kiss
Poor old Colligia,
he don't know what he missed
Is it any wonder that his face is red?