A home to me, a punchline to some,
Where concrete dreams lay roots, and the world feels undone.
Fire rises in the east, remember—the sun,
I was raised in its blaze, where the grit learns to run.

From streets rough enough to carve bone into steel,
Where stories are lived and truths revealed.
You call them lies, we call them Scarborough Bluffs—
Where cliffs hold their ground, and silence talks tough.

It’s more than a place, it’s a fight and a feel,
Where love runs deep, and the scars start to heal.
Scarborough stands where the shoreline meets the rough,
You call them lies—
We just call them Bluffs.