He steps off the elevator with his bodyguards. He's got on a mink coat, dripping jewels, sunglasses. Looks at everybody. Goes to his office. Gets something to drink. I don't know, some juice. He's an apple-juice fiend. Keeps us waiting another five minutes, comes back, sits down, and looks at the room and says, "Y'all are mad as fukk, ain't you?" We know he's got bonus checks, so nobody's saying shyt. And reading the room, he's like, "You see me sitting here with my fur and all of that and you like, 'fukk Puff.' But you know what? I dare one of y'all to come get it. I dare one of you to work harder than me. To come get what I got."
He launches into this Gordon Gekko-like sermon, like, "I come in here and work harder than you in the day, then go to the club and work. You think I'm in the club getting drunk? I'm looking at who's dancing to what, figuring out which song is working in what way, which DJ is making it hot. Tell me who's doing that more than me?"
I was just sitting there like,
Holy shyt. Who he is hit me. He sleeps no more than four hours a night. And every waking hour, he's figuring out how to make more money.
I've always said he's the greediest and most driven person I've ever met—like, his greed is disgusting. Too much is never enough. But he's got a motivation and a drive that can match that greed. And when those two meet, it's magic. Biggie happens. Mase happens. He happens.
I'm sorry but ever word in this statement above sounds like a Chappelle skit