Lyrics

This one’s for the crazy sons of bitches runnin’ the fight from the Lowlands — CRC Bandbox, motherfuckers!"

Out in the Lowlands, mud stickin’ on my boots,
Screens glow green, and we’re countin' the routes,
CRC Bandbox, kings of the fight,
SAMs in our pocket, missiles in flight.

Sam Controller barkin’, "New track, hot and high!"
Allocator laughin’, "Time to make ‘em die,"
Targets on my screen, blazin' like hell,
Lowlands thunder, hear the death knell.

We’re the Bandbox kings, callin’ the shots,
Patriots loaded, NASAMS hot,
Lowlands fire, burnin’ up the sky,
We say the word — and the bastards die.

Joystick twitchin’, screen's runnin' red,
Declare ‘em hostile, put 'em to bed,
Radar hummin’, net’s tight as a noose,
One call from us — we cut 'em loose.

We’re the Bandbox kings, callin’ the shots,
Patriots loaded, NASAMS hot,
Lowlands fire, burnin’ up the sky,
We say the word — and the bastards die.

Targets poppin', Free Fire Zone,
Patriots barkin’ from the combat throne,
Lowlands boys, cold as stone,
CRC Bandbox, sittin’ on the throne!

Beer’s gettin’ warm back in the tent,
Missiles flyin’, fuckin' heaven-sent,
Controller smilin’, Allocator too,
One more splash, that’s what we do.

We’re the Bandbox kings, callin’ the shots,
Patriots loaded, NASAMS hot,
Lowlands fire, burnin’ up the sky,
We say the word — and the bastards die.

One finger on the button, one hand on my beer... that's how we fight in the Lowlands, baby!

We’re the Bandbox kings, callin’ the shots,
Patriots loaded, NASAMS hot,
Lowlands fire, burnin’ up the sky,
We say the word — and the bastards die.
Yeah, we say the word — and the bastards die!

"Bandbox motherfuckers — out!