Listeners still crave the wordplay, punchlines, creativity, and raw artistry that make rap magnetic. More importantly, they are drawn to the spectacle, the competition, and the drama that moments of rap beef like this bring.
By Abioye Damilare Samson
Nigerian Hip-Hop has faced a noticeable decline over the past few years. Beyond the local scene, the genre’s struggle for relevance has been a global conversation, with critics reflecting on Hip-Hop’s creative slump and the surprising resurgence witnessed in 2024.
In a recent interview with Complex, American rapper, Nas, revisited his infamous “Hip-Hop is Dead” statement with a more nuanced perspective on the genre’s current state. “I used to say [that] Hip Hop is dead. It is kind of dead, but we have to think about it, in a sense, like that. Because if you think about it, this year is really incredible. I mean, Kendrick’s been on a roll, Clipse [is] cooking, [there’s the] Legend Has It [series], Mass Appeal”, he said.
It was a statement that captured a global sentiment that Hip-Hop, long thought to have lost its pulse, was once again finding new life in the hands of some rappers. Kendrick Lamar’s 2024 “Not Like Us”, born from his global momentous feud with Drake, set the tone for 2025, while Clipse’s Let God Sort ‘Em Out, their first album in sixteen years, revitalised the culture by reminding audiences what uncompromising Hip-Hop sounds like.
Similarly, Nigeria’s Hip-Hop scene appears to be rediscovering its spark, albeit in its own unique way. Three years after Wizkid’s provocative “Rap is dead” remark in 10 Magazine, attention has returned, partly catalysed by the recent high-profile clash between Blaqbonez and Odumodublvck, the two rappers who have been among the most visible driving forces behind Hip-Hop’s renewed attention in recent years.
Their lyrical sparring, marked by disses and direct shots, has drawn fans back into caring about Hip-Hop. For much of 2025, both artistes traded cryptic jabs on X (formerly Twitter), which sparked speculation about the root of a feud between two leading Hip-Hop artistes who had previously collaborated frequently and appeared to be on good terms.
Rumours suggested the beef stemmed from a fight over a woman, a narrative that was reinforced with Odumodublvck’s “Pussy Niggaz”. The track, which would later feature on Odumodublvck’s project, The Machine Is Coming, was in many ways a shot at Blaqbonez, even if it didn’t quite generate the buzz he might have hoped for. In the chorus, he taunted: “We no dey hear your gbedu again o, Hip-Hop, e don close (walahi)/ Pussy nigga, you gats fold (ọbá o)/ Before na you dey reign o, now you don ghost (fact)”. But it was the first verse that really sharpened the blade of the diss: “Talk to your guy babe, Flex with your babe, that man there is a wasteman/ If I catch that fly for the roadside, kill that man with charisma/ Legelege, break that man like a ruler”. The word, Legelege—a Yoruba slur for someone thin—was a pointed jab at Blaqbonez’s stature, while the verse’s reference to “flex with your guy babe” seemed to validate rumours about the personal nature of their conflict.
Blaqbonez fired back in July with “Go Crazy”, an Afro-Pop tune where he first addressed the feud more directly. Toward the outro, he rapped: “Some people know how, some people do it/ Some people pick up the pen and they spit/ Some people dey inside Twitter dey, ehen, Go crazy, go crazy, go crazy, crazily/ Yeah, fuck Twitter conversations, it’s GOAT conversations”, the line threw shade at Odumodublvck, who had been tagging him and calling him different names on Twitter. A month later, Odumodublvck released his response, “2:02 PM In London Freestyle”, which later featured on his album as “IF YOU LIKE GYM” featuring Modenine.
Months later, on October 17th, Blaqbonez released his fourth studio album, No Excuses. The fourth track, “ACL”, was a full-throttle attack on Odumodublvck and his Abuja-based Hip-Hop collective, Anti-World Gangstars, which includes Reeplay, Agunna, Fatboy E, and Shagba.
Unlike Odumodu’s diss track, “ACL” wielded every bar as a direct and targeted jab. In the chorus, Blaq raps: “Boys they know I’m the blueprint, they wanna be me, so I hear/ But them no fit be me, them no get flavour, N’abania/ Make dem no tear their ACL ‘cause they wan flow like Blaq/ Failed rappers turning to internet gangsters, hm/ Anti-World? (Tch) More like anti-success, hm”.
It combines confidence and insult, showing Blaqbonez’s dominance while mocking Odumodu and his crew’s “gangster” image. The second verse, “Dem dey gas am to rap with me, the machine go soon knock (Who dey gas them?)/ Make he dey do him Highlife dey go/ Make he dey sing high notes, Wande Coal” tightens the screws even further. The “machine” line slyly nods to Odumodu’s newly released Industry Machine album. At the same time, the Wande Coal and Highlife references ridicule his melodic leanings.
Even the music video animates the diss, featuring a trash can topped with Odumodublvck’s signature Okpu Agu cap. It’s sharp, layered, and performative—a display of the lyrical skill, creativity, and showmanship that once made Nigerian Hip-Hop magnetic.
The cultural reverberations of this exchange have been undeniable, and the numbers alone speak to the impact. At the time of writing this essay, the music video for “ACL” had amassed over twenty million views on X, nearly one million views on YouTube, and sat atop the Nigerian Apple Music chart as the number-one track.
For a pure Hip-Hop diss track that many had assumed could no longer achieve commercial success in today’s streaming and pop-dominated music scene, these figures are impressive. Even beyond the quantitative metrics, the real impact of the diss track cannot be ignored. The track, “ACL”, has dominated timelines, sparked endless debates, and reminded fans that Nigerian Hip-Hop can still command attention when presented with sharp lyricism and showmanship.
But as this renewed attention circulates, a pressing question remains: has Nigerian Hip-Hop truly reclaimed its fire, or is it merely riding a wave of beef-driven hype?
To grasp the weight of this moment, it’s worth revisiting how beef has long shaped the story of Nigerian Hip-Hop. Historically, rap beef has always been central to Hip-Hop’s vitality. It’s a way for artistes to test their mettle, assert dominance, and reshape the culture’s direction. Nigerian Hip-Hop has never been an exception. Long before the current Blaqbonez-Odumodublvck feud captured timelines, rap beefs in Nigeria served as both creative catalysts and cultural mirrors, reflecting the shifting tensions between purism, popularity, and artistic authenticity.
In the 2000s, the memorable wave of rap feuds helped define what Nigerian Hip-Hop could become. Eedris Abdulkareem’s “Wakawakee MCs” was a direct response to Tony Tetuila’s “Omode Meta”, a song released after Tetuila’s split from The Remedies. In it, Eedris Abdulkareem took shots at every artiste featured on the track and delivered one of the earliest recorded diss responses in Nigerian rap history.
His sharp lyricism reinforced his image as a confrontational figure and even foreshadowed the eventual split of Plantashun Boiz when he rapped, “2Face is the real Plantashun, y’all n**gas are the Boiz”, a line many would later describe as prophetic.
One of the most symbolic clashes of that era was the feud between Ruggedman and Mode9, two rappers whose contrasting ideologies embodied the divide between mainstream success and lyrical credibility.
Ruggedman, celebrated for his commercial appeal, stood opposite Mode9, the underground king of rhymes, revered for his technical mastery. Their rivalry ignited fierce debates among fans about the true state of Nigerian rap. On his response track, “To Whom It May Concern”, Ruggedman delivered a defiant line that captured the spirit of their confrontation: “I don’t sit on the fence or talk indirect, I won’t waste time on people who don’t come correct. I’m known to name names and flog with a cane; I expect all to have the balls to do the same”. It was an ideological confrontation over what authenticity meant in Nigerian Hip-Hop.
But no diss record from that era wielded more cultural power than Ruggedman’s “Ehen PT 1”, featuring the late singer, Nomoreloss. Widely regarded as Nigeria’s most potent diss track, it took aim at Olu Maintain, Rasqie, Ayangba Boyz (Black Reverendz), and Eedris Abdulkareem. The track’s impact rippled far beyond the bars exchanged.
It fundamentally altered the trajectory of Nigerian Hip-Hop. In its wake, rappers began pivoting toward singing, Eedris transitioned into pop and delivered commercial bangers, and Olu Maintain carved out a clearer identity for himself. It was a cultural turning point that demonstrated how a single diss record could reshape careers and even the entire direction of the genre.
Years later, in 2019, M.I Abaga and Vector gave Nigerian rap fans a show after both rappers went public with a beef that had been lingering for years. Both were at the pinnacle of their careers, each armed with a distinct leadership philosophy. Their beef finally exploded into public view when M.I Abaga took the first shot on “Martell Cypher II: Purification”, to which Vector responded with “The Purge”. Things quickly escalated with M.I releasing the stinging diss track, “The Viper”, and invoking biblical imagery to paint himself as a teacher betrayed by a student who refused to learn.
Vector’s final salvo, “Judas The Rat”, completed the exchange. Beyond the bars, the feud was a theatrical revival of Hip-Hop’s confrontational essence and one of 2019’s biggest pop-cultural moments, impossible to escape on social media or in real-life debates.
Yet, even as these rap battles animated the culture and proved its cultural potency, they could not shield Nigerian Hip-Hop from the seismic commercial shifts reshaping the country’s music landscape.
While rappers bear some responsibility for allowing Hip-Hop to fade into the background, the larger shift was driven by the rise of Afrobeats and mainstream Pop in the mid-to-late 2010s. Unlike Hip-Hop—the genre that laid the groundwork for Afrobeats with its focus on rhythm, storytelling, and cultural expression—Afrobeats grew into one of Africa’s most powerful exports, attracting artistes, investors, and sponsors eager to tap its mass appeal. Traditional rap, by contrast, struggled to command attention or deliver comparable returns, a reality that gradually reshaped public perception and industry priorities.
The weight of these commercial pressures is evident in events like the Hennessy Cypher, which was once a major platform for rappers to display their lyrical prowess and one of the most anticipated Hip-Hop events in Nigeria each year.
Over time, its influence declined, leading to this year’s edition, which, for the first time, blended Amapiano, Afrobeats, and Hip-Hop into a single track and even featured artistes outside the rap ecosystem, a move seemingly aimed at appealing to broader tastes rather than purely celebrating rap. In an industry increasingly driven by returns, investors and record labels now gravitate toward artistes whose music resonates with Afro-Pop’s mainstream audience, leaving rap with two choices: adapt or risk fading into irrelevance.
Faced with these harsh commercial realities, survival has demanded reinvention. To navigate these pressures, many Nigerian rappers have turned to hybrid sounds, blending elements of Afrobeats, Highlife, and even Amapiano into their work.
This fusion has led to a notable rise in melodic rap songs that retain lyrical depth while appealing to broader audiences. Some of the genre’s leading figures, including Olamide, Falz, Ladipoe, Blaqbonez, and Odumodublvck, have all embraced this evolution in different ways, fine-tuning their sound to remain relevant without completely losing Hip-Hop’s essence.
But even with the gradual dilution of Hip-Hop’s raw, traditional form, there’s something fascinating about how a hardcore rap song like Blaqbonez’s “ACL” can still seize national attention and even rise to the very top of the charts as the number one song in the country.
The reason isn’t far-fetched: listeners still crave the wordplay, punchlines, creativity, and raw artistry that make rap magnetic. More importantly, they are drawn to the spectacle, the competition, and the drama that moments of rap beef like this bring.
Beyond the commercial implications, what makes this moment particularly significant is how it has reminded people of Hip-Hop’s essential values. Much of the conversation around the Blaqbonez–Odumodublvck feud revolves around the very elements that define Hip-Hop — the wordplay, the punchlines, the clever boasts, the delivery and the flow — rather than the stream numbers that have come to dominate music discourse in recent years. That in itself feels refreshing in an industry where numbers have become the sole measure of relevance or cultural impact.
But for all the attention and conversation this feud has sparked in Hip-Hop, one rap beef alone cannot bring a genre back to life, even though it can serve as a crucial reminder that the culture is still alive. What will truly sustain this renewed energy is a deliberate effort to rebuild the systems that once gave Hip-Hop its lifeblood.
This requires a multi-layered transformation: rappers must lean into collaboration and community while crafting authentic stories that resonate deeply with everyday Nigerians. At the same time, brands, institutions, and promoters need to recognise Hip-Hop as a worthy investment by funding rap-focused concerts, campus tours, and documentary-style content that highlight the genre’s texture and history.
Because beyond the tweets and the numbers, Nigeria’s Hip-Hop revival will ultimately hinge on a collective decision to keep the culture alive, not just chase sensational moments.
Abioye Damilare Samson is a music journalist and culture writer focused on the African entertainment industry. His works have appeared in Afrocritik, Republic NG, NATIVE Mag, Culture Custodian, 49th Street, and more. Connect with him on Twitter and IG: @Dreyschronicle