Lyrics

Up in the sky, where the fighters roam,
We guide the pack from our radar throne.
Seven-Ten, call us Bandbox pride,
With steel in our voice and ghosts on our side.

Chuter runs the show with a stare so cold,
No mercy, no bullshit, just mission control.
Alpha Mike’s flexin’ like he’s got the crown,
But without our calls, he’s goin’ down.

This is Bandbox, baby we own the skies,
Fighters dance ‘cause we tell ‘em why.
We paint the fight, we draw the lines,
Air war’s ours, every goddamn time.
So light one up, and crank that scope—
We run the game, no room for hope.

Got Sonja sayin’ “No” like a broken tape,
Tryna leash the wolves, but it’s far too late.
We don’t ask, we do, with the mic held tight,
Pushin’ metal through air in the dead of night.

You think you're sharp with your fancy jets,
But we write the kills, place the bets.
Air battle management ain't for show—
We make you lethal, now you owe.

This is Bandbox, baby we own the skies,
Fighters dance ‘cause we tell ‘em why.
We paint the fight, we draw the lines,
Air war’s ours, every goddamn time.
So light one up, and crank that scope—
We run the game, no room for hope.

They call us geeks, call us ground-bound freaks,
But when the shit hits the fan, they're the ones who speak.
“Bandbox, I’m hit!” oh now you care?
Next time listen up when we light the air.

So here’s to the blues in a radar hum,
Seven-Ten’s heart still beatin’ like a drum.
Fighters fall, but we never lose—
We’re the motherfuckin’ Bandbox blues.