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His pulpit's a corner at 19th and MainHis grip on the gospel is his one claim to fameHe hurls fire and brimstone at the cars passin' byHe offers salvation from the savior on highHis khakis are tattered, he ain't bathed in weeksHis bouts with the bottle show up on his cheeksHe looks like a scarecrow, a sight to beholdWhile he works for the shepherd, bringin' lambs to the foldHe points to the Bible he holds in his handSays, I'm proof that the good Lord can save any manSon, it ain't what you're drivin' or the clothes that you wearMaterial possessions won't matter up thereSomeday in heaven with the angels I'll singAnd these rags that I'm wearin' will be fit for a kingHe's fightin' a fever, in spite of the chillsHe pulls up his collar and speaks of God's willHis body is weakened but his faith is still strongHe's filled with conviction for the mission he's on'Cause a mansion is waitin', he'll be homeless no moreAnd his words will still echo from that far distant shoreSon, it ain't what you're drivin' or the clothes that you wearMaterial possessions won't matter up thereSomeday in heaven with the angels I'll singAnd these rags that I'm wearin' will be fit for a king Aus Songtexte Mania