Lyrics

From the lowlands, where the skies grow wide,
We rise like ghosts on the northern tide.
Steel and thunder in a deadly frame,
F-35s with fire and flame.

Wings of silence, death in the mist,
Fifth-gen stealth, you won’t know you’re missed.
Paint the sky with a Dutch war cry,
322, we live to fly.

Polly screams as we cut through night,
Shadow riders born to fight.
From Leeuwarden we take the sky,
Enemies run, or bleed and die.
No mercy, no fear, no fucking retreat,
We own the air, we bring the heat.

Orange blood and battle pride,
With talons drawn, we never hide.
Supersonic justice in our veins,
We bring war like fucking hurricanes.

Your radar’s blind, your time is through,
When Polly flies, she's hunting you.
A squadron forged in smoke and lead,
We kiss the sky and dance with dead.

Lock and load, hear the engine scream,
This ain’t a drill, this ain’t a dream.
We’re Dutch, we’re loud, we’re hard as hell,
F-35s and war to sell.

Polly’s wings blot out the sun,
One by one, your days are done.
From Friesland’s wind to combat zones,
322 brings fire to your bones.
So say your prayers, or say goodbye—
‘Cause Dutch death rains from the fucking sky.