LA Party, Turkish Takeout

[Verse 1] Welcome to the SoFi, the glitter and the lights, Seventy thousand deep for the saddest of sights. You had the early lead, the script was in your hand, Then you let a ghost ship wreck your promised land. Seventy thousand, four hundred ninety-two, Watching eleven statues with nothing to do. You built the stage, you bought the expensive wine, Just to trip and face-plant on the finish line. [Chorus] Ninety-eight minutes of purely faked pride, The door was wide open, you let ‘em inside. Turkey was packed, their bags at the gate, But you gave ‘em a gift on a silver-leafed plate. The hosts of the party, the kings of the flop, You threw the whole bash just to watch the beat drop. Ayhan with the last kick, the ultimate shame, Imagine being the hosts who forgot how to play the game. [Verse 2] Let’s talk about the defense, if we can find it at all, Paraguay and Australia? They built a stone wall. Turkey had zero goals in those first two rounds, Until they stepped onto your hollowed-out grounds. You gave up three to a team that was already out, Leaving seventy thousand with nothing to shout. You’re handing out charity, a hospitable host, Turning a victory parade into a Hollywood ghost. [Bridge] Kaan Ayhan in the final tic of the clock, Left the whole of the West Coast in a state of deep shock. Mathematically eliminated, they were ready for the flight, Till you handed them the aux cord and the keys to the night. You call it soccer, they call it a win, You opened the curtains and let the humiliation in. [Outro] Ninety-eight. The last kick. The final disgrace. Don’t look at the scoreboard, just hide your face. Three goals from the scoreless, a total collapse, The party is over. Mind the gaps.