His pulpit's a corner 
On 19th and Main 
His grip on the gospel 
His one claim to fame 

He hurls fire and brimstone 
At the cars passing by 
And he offers salvation 
For the savior on high 

His khakis are tattered 
And he ain't bathed in weeks 
His bout with the bottle 
Shows up on his cheeks 

He looks like a scarecrow 
A sight to behold 
As he works for the shepherd 
Bringin' lambs to the fold 

He points to the Bible 
He holds in his hands 
Says I'm proof that the good Lord 
Can save any man 

Son, it ain't what you're driving 
Or the clothes that you wear 
Material possessions 
Won't matter up there 
And someday in heaven 
When the angels all sing 
These rags that I'm wearin' 
Will be fit for a king 

He's fighting a fever 
In spite of the chill 
He pull up his collar 
And he speaks of God's will 

His body is weakened 
But his faith is still strong 
For he's filled with conviction 
For the mission he's on 

He knows soon in heaven 
He'll be homeless no more 
As his work will soon echo 
From that far distant shore 

Son, it ain't what you're driving 
Or the clothes that you wear 
Material possessions 
Won't matter up there 

And someday in heaven 
When the angels all sing 
These rags that I'm wearin' 
Will be fit for a king 

And someday in heaven 
When the angels all sing 
These rags that I'm wearin' 
Will be fit for a king