"I'm looking at the numbers, Khaled," Drake said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm looking at the city. Everyone wants a piece of this. I’m tired of playing nice. I’m tired of smiling for the cameras when I know what they say when I leave the room. I’m just… I’m fed up." "Then put that pain in the microphone, boy!"
"We the best," Khaled whispered to the tape running in the machine. "And the world is about to find out why." "I'm looking at the numbers, Khaled," Drake said,
"I'm fed up," Usher sang, his voice soaring effortlessly over the crashing horns, a perfect blend of pain and power. "I'm tired of the games... I given 'em my all, and they still want more..." I’m tired of playing nice
Khaled smiled. It was a slow, predatory grin. This was exactly what he wanted. The tension. The hunger. The raw, unfiltered ambition of kings fighting for a single crown. "And the world is about to find out why
"I want the world to feel it, Ursh!" Khaled shouted, finally letting his signature energy explode. "I want them to feel the pain of success! I want them to know we bled for this!"
"The streets are starving, Khaled!" Jeezy barked, slamming a fist on the table. "They don't want no polished radio hits. They want the truth. They want that snow. I’ve seen things that would turn these young boys' hair white overnight. I’m fed up with the fake talk. Let’s get to the money."