| He stands on the street | |
| with a jar at his feet | |
| And his arms streched toward the sky | |
| God's word in his grip | |
| There's a song on his lips | |
| I will not be denied | |
| Winos walking past | |
| See the change in his glass | |
| and the Devil takes control | |
| They commit their sin | |
| For a half pint of gin | |
| to help fight off the cold | |
| They're laugh found joke (?) | |
| Talked is old tattered cold (?) | |
| Sayin preacher pray for me | |
| Satan made us his slaves | |
| Can three whores be saved | |
| Will Jesus set us free | |
| He prays father please forgive them | |
| For they know not what they do | |
| If there's no room in heaven | |
| For these forgotton few | |
| Lord, give this beggers mansion | |
| To these lost wondering souls | |
| And when I get to heaven | |
| I'll sleep on the streets of gold... | |
| He lays down his head on the missions last bed | |
| as they turn out the front porch light | |
| There's a knock at the door | |
| Is there room for one more? | |
| I'm sorry not tonight | |
| But he gives up his place | |
| For the sidewalk on 8th | |
| Where the angels take his soul | |
| To a mansion so fair | |
| Built for many to share | |
| There by those streets of gold | |
| He prays father please forgive them | |
| For they know not what they do | |
| If there's no more room in heaven | |
| For these forgotten few... | |
| Lord, give this beggers mansion | |
| To these lost wondering souls... | |
| And when I get to heaven | |
| I'll sleep on the streets of gold | |
| I'll sleep on the streets of gold... | |
| I'll sleep on the streets of gold... |
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