| Billy out on the boulevard |
| Preaching salvation on fire and tar |
| Some think he’s crazy |
| Some just shake their heads |
| But Billy keeps on preaching |
| Yeah, Bill keeps on preaching |
| Billy out in the rain again |
| No one will know his suffering and pain |
| They say he’s dying |
| But inside he’s alive |
| And Billy keeps on preaching |
| Yeah, Billy keeps on preaching |
| No one seems to know the days are numbered |
| Some are going to sleep while others slumber |
| And some will never rest at all |
| And the waves of heat are rising |
| And the steam escapes the street |
| Southern California shade offers no relief |
| But he’s pounding out the pavement |
| With his leatherback in his hand |
| Trying to make the people understand |
| No one sees the fields are white to harvest |
| The laborers too few to hit the target |
| And some won’t even try at all |
| And the waves of heat are rising |
| And the steam escapes the street |
| Southern California shade offers no relief |
| But he’s pounding out the pavement |
| With his leatherback in his hand |
| Trying to make the people understand |
| Billy out in the barren wind |
| Feeling the last breath escaping within |
| When he talks of dying |
| He speaks of it firsthand |
| But Billy keeps on preaching |
| Yeah, Billy keeps on preaching to the end |