His pulpit's a corner at 19th and Main
His grip on the gospel is his one claim to fame
He hurls fire and brimstone at the cars passin' by
He offers salvation from the savior on high
His khakis are tattered, he ain't bathed in weeks
His bouts with the bottle show up on his cheeks
He looks like a scarecrow, a sight to behold
While he works for the shepherd, bringin' lambs to the fold
He points to the Bible he holds in his hand
Says, I'm proof that the good Lord can save any man
Son, it ain't what you're drivin' or the clothes that you wear
Material possessions won't matter up there
Someday in heaven with the angels I'll sing
And these rags that I'm wearin' will be fit for a king
He's fightin' a fever, in spite of the chills
He pulls up his collar and speaks of God's will
His body is weakened but his faith is still strong
He's filled with conviction for the mission he's on
'Cause a mansion is waitin', he'll be homeless no more
And his words will still echo from that far distant shore
Son, it ain't what you're drivin' or the clothes that you wear
Material possessions won't matter up there
Someday in heaven with the angels I'll sing
And these rags that I'm wearin' will be fit for a king
