After the one-two punch of his career so far, Rohees finally released his debut EP, Road To The Future. The culturally steeped brilliance of “Road to Redemption” is followed by this raw, yet artistically simplistic, “Frustration,” but the question hanging over Rohees has been one of identity. Is he the sharp-witted cultural narrator or the everyman overwhelmed by the hustle? His latest track, “Extraordinary,” provides an answer, and it is a frustratingly complicated one. The song is a microcosm of his career to date: a largely generic hustle anthem that is saved from mediocrity by a stunning, all-too-brief flash of the lyrical genius that first caught our attention.
For its first two minutes, “Extraordinary” treads dangerously familiar ground. It is an ode to the grind, a staple of the Afrobeats and hip-hop soundscape. Rohees declares his ambition (“I wanna build up my name, I dey hustle for the money”), his motivations (“I do this for the ghetto… for the Benz… for my mama I do this for Jahovah”), and his self-belief (“I’m extra, ordinary things don’t move me”). While sincere, these declarations feel like a checklist of genre tropes. The themes of blending faith with the hustle are present, but they lack the unique spiritual framework that made his earlier work so compelling.
Even his attempt at transatlantic cool—a shout-out to “street thugga boy Makaveli”—feels less impactful than his previous references. Where the invocation of 50 Cent felt like a deliberate, thoughtful connection between two parallel narratives of betrayal, name-dropping Tupac’s famous alias here feels more like a cursory nod than a deep artistic dialogue. The Makaveli persona was a complex rebirth for Tupac, steeped in strategic thinking and a darker worldview; for Rohees, it’s just another name on a long list of reasons why he hustles.
Just as the listener is about to write the song off as a competent but uninspired effort, the final verse arrives and changes everything. Suddenly, the generic hustler is replaced by the wise, world-weary poet. Rohees switches into a mode of profound, cynical observation, using Yoruba proverbs and imagery that are as vivid as they are devastating. He describes the absurdity of life with startling clarity:
“This life, o funny gan / Odabi Eni to ni leprosy, tofe yinbon” (This life is so funny / It’s like a leper who wants to shoot a gun).
“Odabi oko iyawo to sin, Ale loja / O shey wedding ni Dubai honeymoon ni Lokoja” (It’s like a husband who just buried his wife and is seen with a mistress at the market / He had a wedding in Dubai but the honeymoon in Lokoja).
This is the Rohees we have been waiting for. In Yoruba culture, proverbs are likened to “horses for searching for the truth.” They are the repository of an elder’s wisdom, used to distil complex realities into sharp, unforgettable truths. With these lines, Rohees elevates his song from a simple complaint about the hustle into a sophisticated critique of the bizarre, often hypocritical, nature of the society that fuels it. It is a moment of pure, unadulterated lyrical genius.
“Extraordinary” is ultimately a frustrating listen because it feels like two different songs stitched together. The first is a generic track that could have been made by any number of aspiring artists. The second is a brief, brilliant glimpse of a truly unique and powerful voice in Nigerian music. The song is proof that the artist from “Sexy Mama” is still there, but he seems hesitant to take centre stage. The challenge for Rohees remains the same: he must learn to trust his most potent weapon, his deep cultural and linguistic heritage, and build his entire narrative around it, rather than using it as a final-act surprise. He is, indeed, extraordinary, but he only seems to let himself be so when the song is almost over.
