Awful Waffles (USMNT Belgium Rap Battle Song) by Captain Fathom

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V4.5-ALL

[Intro]
Yeah…
Everybody been calling Belgium a dark horse.
Tonight they find out dark horses still get outrun.
Stars and Stripes got receipts.

[Verse 1]
Y’all been living off a “golden generation” obituary,
Still autographing memories like they’re hereditary.
Every tournament, “This the year!”—same documentary,
Then July rolls around… silence at the cemetery.

Whole country smaller than some county lines,
Talking dynasty? Better check your timelines.
You got castles, got comics, got beer on tap—
Still can’t keep an American off the overlap.

Talking ‘bout culture like it’s some revelation,
Bro… what even is the conversation?
Half the squad speaking French, half speaking Flemish,
Locker room need subtitles before they finish.

Flemish? Dutch? French? Pick a lane, my guy.
Everybody nodding like they know—whole room lie.
You split the map before you split the defense,
Now Pulisic splitting lines with malicious intent.

[Hook]
Wave that flag. Don’t wave goodbye.
Stars get brighter when the pressure high.
Red, white, blue—ain’t here for the hype.
Tonight America earning every stripe.

Wave that flag. Don’t wave goodbye.
Golden generation? That’s fossilized.
This ain’t history—this live TV.
USA came for the vacancy.

[Verse 2]
Belgian waffles… let’s unpack that flex.
How many people eating those outside breakfast?
Be honest. Y’all surviving on branding.
Whipped cream carrying the whole landing.

Chocolate cold? Swiss still getting the nod.
Fries? Everybody claim those to God.
Beer so strong fans forget the score—
Might need another round when they’re headed for the door.

Talking diamonds? Cool… they shine.
Can’t polish ninety minutes under these lights.
Talking Tintin… talking Smurfs… talking lace…
Meanwhile the Yanks putting studs in your face.

Y’all famous for crossroads, trains, and bureaucracy,
Meanwhile the States building football democracy.
MLS kids turned soldiers overnight,
Now Europe gotta deal with that appetite.

[Bridge]
This ain’t the underdog story no more.
America stopped knocking—we kicked in the door.
Y’all spent decades saying, “Soccer ain’t their game.”
Now you praying we forget your name.

[Final Verse]
Tonight ain’t revenge—it’s replacement.
Whole football world watching the arrangement.
Old guard fading while the eagle ascends,
Empires don’t collapse… they just reach their end.

When that whistle blow, don’t blame fate.
Don’t blame luck. Don’t blame the weight.
Blame every year you said we’d never belong—
Now sixty thousand singing one victory song.

Look around… hear that sound?
That’s a continent changing the crown.
Belgium, appreciate the view on your way down…

’Cause the future got an American accent now.

[Outro]
No hard feelings.
Just ninety minutes of reality.
Stars. Stripes.
Checkmate.

2763/7500

[Intro] Yeah… Everybody been calling Belgium a dark horse. Tonight they find out dark horses still get outrun. Stars and Stripes got receipts. [Verse 1] Y’all been living off a “golden generation” obituary, Still autographing memories like they’re hereditary. Every tournament, “This the year!”—same documentary, Then July rolls around… silence at the cemetery. Whole country smaller than some county lines, Talking dynasty? Better check your timelines. You got castles, got comics, got beer on tap— Still can’t keep an American off the overlap. Talking ‘bout culture like it’s some revelation, Bro… what even is the conversation? Half the squad speaking French, half speaking Flemish, Locker room need subtitles before they finish. Flemish? Dutch? French? Pick a lane, my guy. Everybody nodding like they know—whole room lie. You split the map before you split the defense, Now Pulisic splitting lines with malicious intent. [Hook] Wave that flag. Don’t wave goodbye. Stars get brighter when the pressure high. Red, white, blue—ain’t here for the hype. Tonight America earning every stripe. Wave that flag. Don’t wave goodbye. Golden generation? That’s fossilized. This ain’t history—this live TV. USA came for the vacancy. [Verse 2] Belgian waffles… let’s unpack that flex. How many people eating those outside breakfast? Be honest. Y’all surviving on branding. Whipped cream carrying the whole landing. Chocolate cold? Swiss still getting the nod. Fries? Everybody claim those to God. Beer so strong fans forget the score— Might need another round when they’re headed for the door. Talking diamonds? Cool… they shine. Can’t polish ninety minutes under these lights. Talking Tintin… talking Smurfs… talking lace… Meanwhile the Yanks putting studs in your face. Y’all famous for crossroads, trains, and bureaucracy, Meanwhile the States building football democracy. MLS kids turned soldiers overnight, Now Europe gotta deal with that appetite. [Bridge] This ain’t the underdog story no more. America stopped knocking—we kicked in the door. Y’all spent decades saying, “Soccer ain’t their game.” Now you praying we forget your name. [Final Verse] Tonight ain’t revenge—it’s replacement. Whole football world watching the arrangement. Old guard fading while the eagle ascends, Empires don’t collapse… they just reach their end. When that whistle blow, don’t blame fate. Don’t blame luck. Don’t blame the weight. Blame every year you said we’d never belong— Now sixty thousand singing one victory song. Look around… hear that sound? That’s a continent changing the crown. Belgium, appreciate the view on your way down… ’Cause the future got an American accent now. [Outro] No hard feelings. Just ninety minutes of reality. Stars. Stripes. Checkmate.

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