Lyrics
Yeah… we talkin’ United? Let’s get surgical.
Trafford’s fallin’, the vibe’s funereal.
They call ‘em the Red Devils, but they play like saints,
No fire, no fight, just excuses and complaints.
Ten Hag actin’ tough, but the squad don’t listen,
Every pass they make end up missin’.
Varane on the bench, Maguire the meme,
Whole defence look like a circus team.
“Rebuild season”? Bro, that’s every year,
Since Fergie dipped, it’s just pain and tears.
Antony spinnin’—but not his stats,
Hundred mil wasted, imagine that.
Rashford postin’, but not performin’,
Opposition strikers still stormin’.
Casemiro lookin’ tired and slow,
They said he’s world-class—two years ago.
Sancho vanished, dressing room cold,
That club’s got more drama than trophies sold.
Fallen Devils, can’t rise no more,
Old Trafford’s haunted by the days before.
They talk like kings but they’re stuck on the floor,
Ten Hag better walk out the door
Liverpool laughed, City took over,
United’s empire? Game over.
Even Brentford made ‘em look silly,
Four-nil loss had ‘em cryin’ in the city.
They’re stuck replayin’ “Glory Days” in their mind.
but we all know that Ronaldo left them behind
their glory is now dead
Man United got no trophies
just like the hairs on Ten Hag's head