[Intro]
[Verse 1]
Yo, sky-blue pretenders, think you’re kings of the game?
Spend them oil billions, but you still taste the shame.
Trophies bought, not earned—your legacy’s thin,
Champions League nights? Yeah, you’re *always* givin’ in.
Haaland’s cold, but he’s ghost when it counts,
Pep’s bald head sweatin’—see the pressure mount.
You call it “project,” we call it a flop,
History’s watchin’, and your reign’s ’bout to drop.
[Chorus]
City’s got money, but they ain’t got soul,
Empty seats echo when the red flags roll.
You’ll never be United, no glory, no pride,
Burn the receipts—your dreams *still* denied.
[Verse 2]
Foden’s your future? Kid’s stuck in your shadow,
KDB’s magic? Just a flicker, no halo.
Plastic fans cheer for a plastic crown,
Real clubs rise—you just gettin’ knocked down.
Etihad’s quiet, like a library at night,
No fire, no passion—just corporate spite.
You stole our stars, but you can’t steal our heart,
Manchesters’s *red*—you’re the frauds from the start.
[Bridge]
Talk ’bout “noisy neighbors”—you’re all bark, no f***t,
Your “quadruple” crumbles in the cold English night.
We sing for the Busby Boys, the Munich air,
You’re just a billboard—no one’s *really* there.
[Outro]
