Profiling

TO BE A MAN: KIZZ DANIEL’S LONGEST STORYLINE FINDS ITS CLIMAX

Kizz Daniel has always been tagged the Afrobeats crooner who sings about love endlessly. But listen closer and another story emerges: a thread of songs where he doesn’t just romanticize women, but interrogates them—especially their irresponsibility, parasitic tendencies, and emotional manipulations. Few Afrobeats artists have been bold enough to sing men’s general plight in toxic relationships with the same consistency. “To Be A Man” is not a break from this tradition; it is the climax.

The arc began on New Era (2016), with Kudi. The song was soulful and sorrowful—lamenting a love lost on February 27. Kizz Daniel “crashed out” on that track, opening a path that he would revisit with greater sharpness over the years. By 2018, he had teamed up with Davido for One Ticket. It was more confrontational, calling out women’s flippant threats and emotional manipulation. Lines like “If you break my heart today, me I go sharpally replace” turned into a cultural refrain, giving voice to men who were tired of the games.

Then came 2019’s F**k You, a raw burst of fury that inspired the most covers in Afrobeats history. Almost the entire industry lined up to confess their experiences with betrayal and infidelity, cementing the song as the most cathartic moment in Nigerian pop. Still on King of Love (2020), Boys Are Bad opened with chaos: “If you leave girl I will swear for you / Cause all the money I don spend on you.” Here, the financial burden of love and resentment over sunk costs became the hook.

After F**k You, Kizz Daniel released Pak n Go in 2019, which sharpened his critique of entitled women. Built on humour and catchy repetition, the song essentially told men to leave demanding partners:

“If you buy am Toyota, she say she want Honda / Biko, pak ‘n’ go.”

“If you buy am isi’ewu, and she say you no buy shawarma, pak ‘n’ go.”

It became a kind of manual for men who felt financially drained and unappreciated. With satire and playful pidgin proverbs, Kizz Daniel delivered a serious warning: stop overstretching yourself for someone who will never be satisfied.

In 2021, Barnabas brought Pour Me Water. For the first time, the lament extended beyond women into his own fragility: “Girl, if you’re done with me, baby biko just set me free … you dey call me your boyfriend, but why I still dey pay for the s*x every night?” A rare admission of helplessness, self-destruction, and intoxication in the face of manipulation.

By 2023, on Maverick, Kizz Daniel revisited the same terrain with E’better. Here, he mixed humour with frustration, sketching a modern parable about pressures in love and material expectations:

“Na fine face you get you no get manners.”

“E better make I single again.”

The song played out like a conversation between reality and fantasy: he admits to spending his “last card” on a woman, but also reminds her that looks and luxury without substance are worthless. E’better wasn’t just a warning, it was almost resignation—the recognition that sometimes being single is the better choice.

By 2024’s TZA EP, the arc had evolved into outright rejection. On Busy To Be Bae, Kizz Daniel wasn’t just complaining anymore—he was checking out. He framed relationships as burdensome jobs, with no time for love, calling himself a “bad boy 2-4.” And now, To Be A Man heightens the arc by flipping the narrative. No longer just criticising women’s demands, he offers them an invitation: if you think it’s easy, be a man too. The song paints the reality of endless work, material demands, and emotional neglect:

“I work hard 16 hours in a day / No time off, no holiday … A quality time or Gucci bag, which one you want?”

“If e easy to be a man, take my shoes and go crazy.”

It is exhaustion. The man is mentally stretched, burdened by societal expectations, alcohol (“I dey drink ogogoro”) as a coping mechanism, and a partner who doesn’t understand. This isn’t new. Since Sofa (2016), he has sung about “alcohol and cigarettes” as companions. In 2021’s Addicted, he admitted dependence on smoking. By 2022, he teased an entire project titled Alcohol & Ci******es that never came. In 2024, on Marhaba, he was still confessing: “Just a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of cigarette / I’m already singin’ bird, I’m already continental.” Now in 2025, To Be A Man returns to the bottle, as ogogoro becomes his coping balm.

The most fascinating thing about this arc is how Kizz Daniel cloaks deep frustrations in catchy melodies. Each of these songs—no matter how bitter or accusatory—has turned into a hit with high replay value. It’s almost ironic: he sings of chaos, heartbreak, and self-destruction, yet delivers them as breezy anthems that soundtrack parties.

To Be A Man is not just a song—it is the latest chapter of Kizz Daniel’s longest story, one he has been telling since 2016. It is the arc of a man who has loved, lost, raged, sworn, rejected, and numbed himself, all while soundtracking a continent’s dance floors. If Afrobeats is often accused of avoiding depth, Kizz Daniel’s catalogue proves otherwise. Beneath the melody, there is always a man insisting that love is war, and men are casualties too.

And Kizz Daniel? He is Afrobeats’ most consistent chronicler of men’s suffering in love, documenting every stage—from heartbreak (Kudi), to confrontation (One Ticket), to betrayal (F**k You), to entitlement (Pak n Go), to resentment (Boys Are Bad), to emotional collapse (Pour Me Water), to outright rejection (Busy to Be Bae), and finally, to existential fatigue (To Be A Man).

SIR KINGSLEY’S AND CONTROVERSIAL’S MUFASA — A SELF-MYTHOLOGIZING ARC

With Mufasa expanding his discography, Sir Kingsley veers into self-definition with Controversial Success in tow. The Ghana-based Nigerian rapper has been curating a catalogue that steadily frames his life as myth — first as phoenix (Rise of the Phoenix), then as hedonist (S.W.A), everyman (On God), and dreamer (Like Burna Boy with The Villain). With Mufasa, he steps into his boldest archetype yet: the lion king, a figure of survival, resilience, and authority.

The collaboration with Controversial elevates the record beyond personal coronation. Controversial not only takes the hook but also provides the track’s emotional core with a verse that laments the weight of being an only child: “My leg bin dey for fire / I can’t deny, I tire.” His lamentation sharpens the song, grounding Kingsley’s leonine imagery in the lived realities of young Africans for whom success is not merely desired but demanded. This duality — Kingsley’s myth-making and Controversial’s confession — gives Mufasa its emotional architecture.

Kingsley himself raps with composure, embodying the lion’s calm authority rather than frantic hunger. His delivery is patient and deliberate, reflecting an artist who no longer feels the need to prove his strength through aggression. The production, sparse yet Afrocentric, provides a steady canvas where both voices can resonate clearly. Instead of rushing listeners to the dance floor, the beat creates space for reflection, compelling attention to what is being said.

What makes Mufasa significant is what it declares in Kingsley’s evolving narrative. By invoking the lion king, he situates himself within Nigerian mainstream music tradition of self-mythology — Burna Boy as African Giant, Olamide as Baddo, Wizkid as the Biggest Bird— yet he adds a new dimension by allowing another voice to complicate the story. The record becomes less about one man’s self-ascension and more about a generational outcry for recognition and survival.

In essence, Mufasa is Kingsley’s coronation in waiting. He may not yet hold the crown in the industry’s eyes, but the act of placing it on his own head, of roaring with conviction while making room for another’s pain, marks him as an artist whose myth is still unfolding. The lion king is not simply a metaphor for dominance here — it is a metaphor for endurance, for bearing the scars of struggle, and for still daring to call oneself sovereign.