Come on baby won't you show me what you got
I want your salvation

There's a neighborhood called Blackhawk
Where all the rich people hide
I was down on my luck working for the Salvation Army
The shelter is where I reside
Everyday we drive into Blackhawk
And we pick up the offerings
Microwave, refrigerator for the suffering

Come on baby wont you show me what you got
I want your salvation

I can't believe these people live like kings
Hidden estates and diamond rings
I'm a rat out on a mission
I'm in your front yard under suspicion

Come on baby won't you show me what you got
I want your salvation

Copyright: Wixen Music Publishing
Writer(s): Roger M. Freeman, Timothy Armstrong