"Trials of Love" as written by Lou Bond, John Herbert Jr. Harris, Albert Johnson and Alan Maman....
Come here darlin', have a seat, we need to speak
Look straight in my eyes, tell me what you see?
Is it that same nigga that you fell for from the door

Ain't I that same nigga we was both on the train goin' hard
And then your shit surfaced
Takin the phone in the bathroom, whisperin' wit your girlfriends
Try to play me on some jerk shit

Numbers underneath the sole of your lady Timb's
... Ooh shit!!

Kid, I kept it tight for you
Turned nigga's down, didn't go out all them nights for you
And I ain't even that type'a bitch
I heard about Jones Beach and Luke's Freak Fest

Nevertheless I still put my faith in you
You was my dog, so I stayed faithful
But I'll be god damned if I be some nigga dumb bitch
It's fucked up it gotta go down like this...

[P] Yo, have you ever had a bitch that'll pop guns for you?
[B] Type of nigga you'll do anything he ask to?
[P] Snake bitch turn around and backstab you?
[B] Crab nigga found out he fucked around too?
[P] Threw her cash, threw in the smash, that's boo
[P] Rockin your 4 wheel drive and tattoo
[B] Talk sweet thinkin that he rockin you to sleep?
[B] Who me? Fall for that bullshit, you got it twist

You was once my bunny, now you want to act funny
I'm that same nigga from the first day who dress bummy
Same grimy style nigga, I'm still hungry
I never lost my thirst for takin that money
I never lost my lust for chicks lovely

You met me on those terms, so that's how I'm runnin
I still walk up in the crib 5 in the mornin
... And still count my cash before I crash
What you thought, you had a dunny? I ain't the one honey

You skim 20's out of my stacks of Benny's
You done found yourself a street life love, to death do us
Remember that shit, now everything's ass-backwards
We was more like Mickie and Mallory

You fouled out on me; found another man math in your belly bag, damn!
I wish you luck though, you sneaky bum hoe
Catch you on the corner while I pass in my truck though

Yeah aight
First of all Fuck You, and everything you own nigga
You got a lot a nerve, nigga
I should throw a brick through your shit, fuck your whips

It ain't about that, it's about you givin' out my dick
Or so it seems, I can only call it how I see it
Got hoes callin' the crib, hangin' up not speakin'
Come on, what type of shit is that?

What, I'm supposed to sit back, stay up all night for you to get back?
Like the world revolves around P
So while you strolled in at 5 I was comin' in at 3 3:30
Niggas want to play dirty

Fuck it, that's how you want to rock let's get dirty
Yeah, condom wrappers in the back of the Azure
Talkin' bout you let your mans get off, your G ain't strong
I'm gone, you ain't worth the tears

You lost the best thing you ever had in your life, a waste of my years


I might give out, but I'll never give in...
We might as well, be friends, yes we have...

Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Trials of Love" as written by Albert Johnson Alan Maman

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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Trials of Love song meanings
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