Microchips and Bin Lids

[Verse 1] Ninety-four minutes, the clock’s a heavy weight, Goncalo Ramos sealed your sorry fate. Luka, look at you, a legend turned to stone, Watching the Navigators claim the throne. Five trips to the dance for the man they call the GOAT, Finally bagged a knockout goal and cut your victory throat. Ronaldo waited decades just to humble your lot, While you lot stood frozen, tied up in a knot. [Chorus] Bin 'em all, the Golden Age is done, Snicko caught you cheating, Portugal has won! Check the microchip, check the tiny touch, Turns out your pedigree didn't mean that much. Two-one the tally, the checkers are all torn, Your finest generation is a target for our scorn! [Verse 2] Ninety-plus-thirteen, Gvardiol thinks he’s king, Running to the fans to do his little thing. But the ball’s a snitch, it’s got a digital brain, Found a microscopic offside to double up the pain. A pixel on a screen, a ghost of a toe, Technological justice ended your show. From Toronto to Zagreb, the silence is loud, You're just a bunch of has-beens lost in the cloud. [Bridge] Toronto stadium, what a state you’re in, Throwing bottles on the grass, crying in the bin. Trash on the pitch, plastic flying through the air, Melting down like toddlers because the tech was fair. You couldn't win the game so you threw a little fit, Your legacy is rubbish and you're drowning in it. [Outro] Modric is walking, the golden light has fled, Put those checkered jerseys quietly to bed. Ninety-four for Ramos, ninety-thirteen for the chip, Portugal’s moving on, you’ve lost your grip. Absolute scenes, the technology’s the boss, Pack your bags for home and swallow the loss!