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 pulls 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

Well these rags that I'm wearin'

Will be fit for a king



And someday in heaven

When the angels all sing

Well these rags that I'm wearin'

Will be fit for a king



They'll be fit for a king