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