We are living through a global Afrobeats phenomenon, an export machine that has captured dance floors from Lagos to London, earning unprecedented commercial success and mainstream cultural cachet. Yet, beneath the irresistible percussion and soaring melodies lies a troubling paradox: a deepening crisis of lyrical craft that threatens to make the genre a triumph of packaging over substance.
We have seemingly grown content with the fact that many Nigerian artists no longer feel compelled to be soulful storytellers. While the music industry is experiencing a record-breaking market surge, the quality of its lyrical output seems to be in freefall. To dissect the ‘why’ is to confront a sobering truth: we, the consumers, are the primary enablers, prioritizing fleeting viral moments and intoxicating beats over cohesive, thoughtful writing.
The result is a genre increasingly oversaturated with music relying on shallow lyrical tropes, lines that make a critical listener stop and ask, ‘As how?’ This collective silence and passive consumption has made the Nigerian music scene a space where lyrical mediocrity is not just tolerated, but actively rewarded.
The Anatomy of the Questionable Lyric
Nigerian artists have mastered the art of singing just anything to fill the instrumental space, creating a lexicon of questionable lines that reveal a startling lack of reflection or respect for the written word. These linguistic shortcuts are not isolated errors; they are symptoms of an industry-wide prioritization of rhythm over reason.
The most jarring examples often fall into categories of the ridiculous, the crass, and the offensively reductive. The classic example of this nonsensical filler is Tekno’s infamous commitment on “Wash”: “If you like Karate, I’ll teach you mathematics.” It’s a baffling non-sequitur, a line so nonsensical it loops back to being memorable, yet it perfectly encapsulates the sacrifice of logic for a rhythmic filler. Similarly, Davido’s attempt at philosophical depth on “Like Dat” dissolves into self-parody: “Deeper life is sister, sister life is deeper.” These lines demonstrate an understanding that, within the current Afrobeats structure, a phrase that sounds catchy is far more valuable than a phrase that means anything.
More troubling is the recurrent reduction of women to commodities. This is where the lyrical shallowness moves from comedic to critical. On his collaboration “D&G,” Davido’s attempt at a romantic declaration falls utterly flat: “When I look into your eyes all I see is your waist.” This brand of overt objectification is echoed, perhaps even amplified, in the recent, attention-grabbing line from rising star Mavo: “Girl I wan chop, your body na meat pie.” Placing the feminine body in the same breath as food—a concept also seen in Rema’s “Amaka body sweet pass hot eba”—reveals a profoundly lazy and reductive approach to songwriting. The woman is not a muse; she is a consumable good to be categorized alongside the Nigerian diet.
Perhaps the most cynical example belongs to Iyanya’s “One Side ” , a supposed endearment song that takes a stark economic turn: “E better make I dey with you cause these olosho don dey cost.” This is a very shocking admission that undermines the emotional core of the song. It suggests that the artist’s motivation for a committed relationship is purely transactional, driven by rising costs of transactional sex workers rather than genuine affection. The thought of this lyric playing at a wedding ceremony is less humorous than it is a bleak commentary on the transactional nature of modern relationships reflected in our music.
The Enterprise Model: How Beats Killed Storytelling
The proliferation of these shallow lyrics points to a fundamental shift in the Afrobeats ecosystem: the art of storytelling is rapidly dissolving. For artists of the previous generation, from Fela Kuti to Eedris Abdulkareem, and even the ’00s acts like Styl-Plus, music was a vehicle for narrative, social commentary, or complex emotional expression. Now, it is a literal enterprise.
The goal is no longer to express or connect; it is to achieve market penetration and acquire the ‘cool cash’ associated with a spot in the “Big 3” of Nigerian music. This market imperative has codified the ‘Beats > Lyrical Content’ equation. Music is now predominantly valued based on how well it works in a club, or how seamlessly it can become a viral audio on platforms like TikTok.
This is why, despite the undeniable talent of artists like Johnny Drille, Ric Hassani, or Dwin the Stoic, their recognition remains niche. They are crafting music with soul, but their genres are patterned differently, operating outside the mainstream Afrobeats machine that prioritizes rhythm over reflection.
Even in the realm of Nigerian hip-hop, this contrast is painfully clear. An artist like Vector showcases the depth and storytelling potential rap can offer, demanding that listeners engage with his craft. Yet, it is often Odumodublvck, the master of infectious club energy and simple, chant-like lyrics, who commands the wider, more immediate audience. The market’s preference is unambiguous: if the beat slaps, the lyrics don’t have to stick.
The Blame We Must Accept: The Role of the Consumer
The bitterest pill to swallow is that we, the audience, are the primary enablers of this mediocrity. Our collective tolerance is precisely why these artists are where they are. We consume their music, elevate their streams, and grant them cultural relevance, only to “switch up” later when the shallowness of the music becomes undeniable.
The ongoing conversation around Ckay’s new release featuring Mavo serves as a perfect case study. Mavo, whose single “Escaladizzy” achieved viral fame, represents the quintessential new-age artist whose path to success is paved by virality, not necessarily lyrical genius. His recent lyric about “meat pie” is trending, simultaneously fueling his fame while generating the very criticism that now occupies music think-pieces. The system is feeding on its own contradictions.
The Internet—specifically the rise of platforms like TikTok—is the accelerator for this process. A small, often random, phrase or beat can go viral overnight, propelling an artist with virtually no discography or lyrical depth into the spotlight. A brief moment of virality substitutes for years of artistic refinement. This means the artists most recognizable are often those who simply sing anything after getting high, rather than those who approach music as a serious, expressive craft.
The Lost Decade: Looking Back at the ’00s and ’10s
This current state stands in stark contrast to the Nigerian music of the ’00s and early ’10s. While that era certainly had its fair share of “party anthems” and simplistic tracks—the so-called “pon pon” music—even those songs possessed a different quality. They were often rooted in relatable stories, clear narratives, or a clever use of vernacular. The focus was on creating enduring hits, not just disposable, algorithm-friendly snippets.
Back then, the path to success was longer and required more comprehensive talent: not just a producer, but a full complement of writing, stage presence, and strategic label backing. Today, the path is faster, relying almost entirely on production quality and instantaneous online validation. This has reframed music as a corporate commodity, stripping it of its inherent value as an art form and a spiritual medicine for the soul.
Will We Demand More?
The Nigerian music industry is riding a massive wave, but the increasing ubiquity of shallow, questionable lyrics suggests the wave is powered by shallow currents. Until we, the critical consumers, adjust our behavior, the situation will not improve.
We must acknowledge that what is being consumed from the Nigerian music industry is too often a mediocre meal, barely cooked enough to be worth consumption. As long as we grant instant fame to artists simply because they can cook up an insane beat, the ones who strive for depth will remain on the sidelines.
The demand for music that not only makes you dance but also makes you think—music that tells coherent stories and respects the listener’s intelligence—must be amplified. Until then, we are simply enabling the sound of our own diminished critical standards.
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