Every day he finds a crowded spot To assemble his battered old soapbox stand Smiles as he climbs to the very top The good Lord's book in his hand
All day long he stands telling the throng The price of their terrible ways Telling them all just where they go wrong And how they'll eventually pay
People fly past don't bother to stop To listen to the man on top of the box Beneath their breath they quietly say We'd better look the other way, yeah We'd better look the other way
Night draws on and people go home His eyes light up, his smile is broad Confident now that he has shown A few more people the Lord A few more people the Lord