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, s 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   Well these rags that I'm wearin' will be fit for a king      He's fighting a fever but in spite of the chill   He pulls up his collar and he speaks of Gods 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      Someday in Heaven when the angels all sing   Well these rags that I'm wearin' will be fit for a king   Will be fit for a king