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 every 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 These rags that I'm wearin' Will be fit for a king
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 every 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 These rags that I'm wearin' Will be fit for a king
