(Verse 1) Motor bus, cracked seat, jerseys frayed at the seam, Broken laces, empty locker — leftovers of a dream. Sunday shirts smell like chai and yesterday's shout, We ride back home slow, heads down, fists unclout. Captain Jalal Akram — voice like a bell, Osama Ali Zaman — they call him OZ in the cell. Khosa claws the turf, Kashif ties the grief, Four faces, same bus, same ritual, same brief. (Pre-Chorus) We count the dents in the van, we count the songs we lose, We lace our hands with pride, we learn from every bruise. (Chorus - Chantable Hook) Ghatiya 11 — Sundays lose, hearts bruise (x3) (Aah! Again! Hey!) (Spoken Hook - VERBATIM SAMPLE) This is Ghatiya 11, they come every Sunday after losing the match, they are not destined to win. Captain Jalal Akram, Osama Ali Zaman, Khosa and Kashif, they go every Sunday, they come every time after losing. This is the identity of Ghatiya 11, they are not destined to win, they are destined to lose. This is the identity of Ghatiya 11, they are not destined to win, they are destined to lose. (Verse 2) Matchday ritual — tape, tape, last-minute pray, Coach draws lines but luck walks away. Crowd throws jokes, mouths curve like knives, But we measure our worth in how hard someone tries. Jalal stomps rhythm — captain, leader, scar, OZ hums the tune — late tea at the bazaar. Khosa keeps the faith, Kashif laughs at the rain, They buy samosas after loss — salt for the pain. (Bridge) Empty field echoes, trophies gather dust, But someone keeps coming back — that's sacred trust. Not all wins glitter; not all losses fade, We wear our Sundays like a badge, a crude parade. (Chorus - Chantable Hook) Ghatiya 11 — Sundays lose, hearts bruise (x3) (Aah! Again! Hey!) (Break - Concrete Ritual Imagery, percussive) Bus engine hums, chai steam, tape on the cleat, Locker door bangs — laughter in defeat. Shirts stained with mud, names stitched in thread, We still show up, we still shout what we said. (Spoken Hook - VERBATIM SAMPLE REPRISE) This is Ghatiya 11, they come every Sunday after losing the match, they are not destined to win. Captain Jalal Akram, Osama Ali Zaman, Khosa and Kashif, they go every Sunday, they come every time after losing. This is the identity of Ghatiya 11, they are not destined to win, they are destined to lose. This is the identity of Ghatiya 11, they are not destined to win, they are destined to lose. (Outro) Ghatiya 11 — not the winners on the board, But the ones who return, who keep the ritual stored. Sundays mark us, but we still choose, To rise, to gather — Ghatiya 11 — we lose, we move. (Ad-libs: Uh! Again! Ghatiya! — fade)