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