From gritty Warri street slang to deeply personal stories of survival, Erigga’s music has remained a constant force in Nigerian hip-hop. With G.O.A.T, the Delta-born rapper pens a reflective, defiant statement on legacy, loyalty, and life in the Niger Delta.

There’s something magnetic about the ancient city of Warri, in Delta State. Apart from being one of Nigeria’s commercial nerve-centres, with its seaport and rich crude oil reserves, it is largely the heartbeat of the Niger Delta.
The bustling city is also home to award-winning rapper Erigga, whose voice continues to document the reality of the average man on the streets in the oil-rich city.

Born Erhiga Agharivbie, the Hip-Hop star tore through the public gaze, in 2018, with his breakout song Motivation (with Victor AD), which gained widespread virality online. He had, however, begun gaining significant buzz since the early 2010s with his punchy Pidgin bars capturing life on Nigeria’s grittier edges.

His recent 13-track album, G.O.A.T, spotlights his hustle, survival instinct, self-development, mental wellness, and other didactic narratives.

Featuring industry heavyweights like Phyno, Bella Shmurda, Ajebo Hustlers, Big Klef, Great Adams, among others, the album is also a celebratory anthem for the rapper whose 10-year discography continues to herald him as one of the biggest music exports from the Niger Delta. It is also his segue from 2023’s Family Time album which fetched him the Best Rap Album award at the Headies that year.

Catching up with Guardian Music, the 38-year-old rapper breaks down his G.O.A.T album, peddling his pedigree as one of the most popular and consistent music exports from the Niger Delta.

I got to a point where I felt we give too much of ourselves in this business. The need to connect can make you overshare, and oversharing becomes a sacrifice.

I’m so many things to many people: a mentor, a big brother, the streets’ encyclopedia, like Britannica; you know, the whole street OT! But I figured that one needs to give themselves that credit instead of waiting for validation. People wait for others to call them the GOAT before they claim it.

While I was making this album, my wife noticed my mood—she always knows when I’m in album mode. I was like, “Yo, I’m struggling to name this album. What do you think?” She said, “Give yourself that credit. Call yourself the GOAT, and that’s what they’ll call you.”

I was tired of seeking validation from the media or industry. My fans have been giving me that love, so I said, fine, greatest of all time. This isn’t just an album; it’s a statement, a blueprint for the next generation. If you want to get into this business, listen to this guy.

I don’t belong to the industry; I formed my own ‘outdustry’ because I refused to play by certain rules. The ‘outdustry’ is like a society. You can play the game the world wants or stay consistent in what you do. So, I gave myself that credit and laid a blueprint. It wasn’t about making an ordinary album. I didn’t want to chase trends like Amapiano or club bangers. It’s about legacy.

The album starts with Sacrifice. Sacrifice is the short way to get anything in life. Want a nice body? Sacrifice time to hit the gym, no complaints. We live in a generation where everybody wants results without sacrifice. Some sacrifice without even knowing why.

After Sacrifice, the album moves to tracks like Gucci Belt, where you’re tempted to chase luxury and flashiness. But then you realise who you need to represent. The tracks are a core for you, a young African navigating life. There’s always two choices: the right way and the easy way. The easy way gives quick results, but the right way demands sacrifice—your ignorance, your dignity. Nothing is free. That’s the blueprint.

Take Warri, for example. It’s a lively place. Imagine someone telling you, “Omo, I go drop and sky,” when you ask them how they intend to move around town. It means they are about to enter the Okada, for instance, and they are not about to pay. You enter okada, you come down and you no pay, you run. The okada guy no go chase you; he just go vex. That’s the reality.

Warri is vibrant, and I weave those experiences into my music to reflect what I see and live.

When you say things like that, it can mislead younger generations trying to discover music that speaks to their emotions. The ‘mainstream’, to me, is a media construct. I do stadium shows back home—Calabar, Benin, Port Harcourt, Warri—but the media camera no dey there to show it. The people are there, not the media.

If I relied on the media frenzy to call me mainstream, it would fade because the media moves to the next big thing. My goal is to talk to human beings, touch their hearts. Anywhere I go, there’s an Erigga fan saying, “Bros, this is your impact in real time.” That’s why I’ve lasted.

Like I said in Lost Boys, “How truth wan dey news when news no dey truth?” No matter how much you raise the price of cornflakes, when e finish, you go find garri. Garri no need advert. My music be like garri.

The “mainstream” concept is just industry jargon. They sidelined Hip-hop for Afrobeats, because it’s easier to recoup money from Afrobeats. One needs a lot of time to build a community around rap; and it is because once you do they never leave. Till date, Tupac, Biggie, Eminem, and others have their fans. In America, rap is mainstream, but here, they don’t invest in rappers like that.

This project is a message God sent through different forms. The songs hit me naturally. For Sacrifice, I needed Big Klef, an amazing singer and engineer based in Los Angeles, who’s worked with American stars like E-40. I wanted him to sing professionally on that track.

For the song, Therapy Session, I needed Bella’s spiritual voice to make it feel like healing. On Cocaina Patient, it was very intentional. I just wanted to give them a story about my life. My fans, very intelligent people, have once called me out, saying, “You said in your album, The Erigma II, that you would not rap about your past again.”
Some have also called me out saying, “Why you go talk say you no dey talk about your past again?” I wanted to stay in the middle so I gave them a story from how e dey be during those days, especially about the mistakes youths still dey make till now.

Just Breathe dey address the betrayals and people wey dey forget say we still remember where we come from. Despite the designer clothes on our body, we still see the scars. We reached this height through the heat and the pain, but the scars remain.

The song Upper Iweka connects Delta State and Onitsha. It is a bridge with history. I’d been planning a collabo with Phyno for a while, and when the song came, the collaboration just flowed.

Around Nine is emotional. I wrote it at 9 p.m. without realising the time, and it captured everything on my mind about money and peace, the ‘map’ wey everybody dey find. Great Adamz came to the studio, did his part in one take. Every feature was intentional to tell a story, not just to bring vibes. Only a few artists can do that consistently.

The song, Dirty Boxers,’ was me in my element, spitting raw rap like Lil Wayne used to back in 2005, breaking down every bar. I love to stay true to my craft, no matter the pressure to switch to party jams!

G.O.A.T is a statement, like coming outside as president of the gods’ party front. It’s an action. After so many years in this business, I’m grateful to my fans. Una make me see the light.

Life is a fight—mentally, physically, financially. When I went to meet with the first person who signed me, I went with 500 songs; that’s how ready I was. With the economy now, it’s war. G.O.A.T is everything, a blueprint for what comes next.

Recently, I had an interview with Kemi Smallz, and she tried to break down Cocaina Patient. I asked why she chose it, given her different upbringing. She said she loves reading books, and my music paints fantasies she can imagine, like graphic memories.

That’s when I realised music has no boundaries. People connect because the words are vivid, like painting visions. I dey listen to Dagrin, even if I no dey hear wetin ee dey talk. I listen to his music and feel it. Music has its own language.