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