C                                    G        F
Stepped off the train and looked for Fruitvale signs
  C                  G              F
The January air it whips across my spine
C    G   F
Whoa    Whoa

C                             G              F
We've been suffering the six days since he died
C                         G            F 
I saw a picture of his mother as she cried
C                                 G               F
Go to where the people go, we'll dig some decent wine

         C     G       F
And it burns hard and real
    C    G   F 
To feel his feel


C                                      G        F
They're putting clothes to flame, an imaginary sun
C                             G         F
A little boot heel down for a solitary gun