The Training Cone Tour

[Verse 1] You bought the tickets just to watch from the best seat, Three hundred fewer passes, you’re allergic to your feet. Seventeen shots raining down, a total defensive collapse, While you managed zero on target—did you take a ninety-minute nap? We saw eleven ghosts wandering around the pitch, Turning a professional match into a highlight-reel glitch. [Chorus] A five-nil mauling, the world is laughing at the screen, The most pathetic display this tournament has ever seen. You’re just a footnote in the King’s retirement tour, A gift for the legend while you’re left insecure. Five-nil! Record the score and hang your heads in shame, You’re just the training cones in someone else's game. [Verse 2] Forty-one years old and Ronaldo still owns your soul, Scoring twice to break the record and take total control. Six different tournaments he’s found the back of the net, And your defense provided the easiest brace he’ll ever get. Then came the fourth goal, the ultimate comedy show, Abduvohid Nematov, how did you let that one go? Literally fumbled the ball into your own goal frame, A professional keeper putting his own nation to shame. [Bridge] No shots on target, no heart, and no pride, Nowhere for that embarrassing scoreline to hide. You traveled across the globe just to be a punchline, Watching the Portuguese stars making everything look fine. [Outro] Seventeen shots to zero, the stats don't lie, Uzbekistan’s dignity just went out to die. Five-nil on the board, a permanent stain, Don't bother coming back to the global stage again.