The Boston Space Program

[Verse 1] Seventeen shots and you couldn’t hit a barn door with a spade, Just a billion-pound circus and a toothless parade. Four out of five times you’ve turned up to the Cup, And failed to find the net while the group stages wrap up. A late barrage of nothing, just a lot of sideways hype, While the Black Stars showed the world you’re the fragile, plastic type. [Chorus] Zero-zero, same old story, just a different stadium, Your ego’s made of gold but your finishing is premium. No goals, no glory, just the flight back to the rain, Pack the bags, cancel plans, you’ve bottled it again! Zero-zero, absolute dross, tell the pilot start the plane! [Verse 2] Eighty-seven minutes in, the golden boy’s got the glory in his eye, But Harry Kane blazed a point-blank sitter high into the Boston sky. NASA called for data, that ball’s passing Mars tonight, While your captain’s in the dirt, terrified of the light. Nico O'Reilly’s potential winner hit the woodwork with a thud, Leaving the so-called pride stuck face-down in the mud. [Bridge] Seventeen efforts and the scoreboard stayed dead, Living off a history that’s only in your head. A low-block masterclass left you looking proper soft, While the ball Kane hit is still soaring somewhere up aloft. [Outro] Toothless and useless, the pattern’s pretty clear, Four group blanks in five tries, it’s the same every year. Zero goals. Zero pride. Boston saw the bottle job. Everyone inside!