"Bro, pass me the canna."
The unmistakable voice of Burna Boy sliced through the haze of smoke and low trap beats vibrating in the background. Dressed in a pair of dark shades, a vintage Fela Kuti tee, and silk Versace pants that shimmered in the purple-tinted LED lighting of his Lekki mansion, Burna lounged on a leather sectional. His phone was propped up on a gold-plated tripod, the screen showing he was live on Instagram, with over 143,000 viewers already locked in.
A joint was lazily passed to him by a friend slouched nearby. The camera caught glimpses of red cups, a few girls dancing in the background, laughter echoing in and out of frame. The scene was a mix of unfiltered superstar chaos and curated rebellion. One of his boys was humming a beat, another playing with a French bulldog wearing a diamond-studded collar.
Burna took a deep drag and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke roll from his nose like a ritual.
