🎤🔥 “Benzino Goes Nuclear on Eminem AGAIN?! 😤 Claims He Was Used, Dumped & ERASED From Hip-Hop History 🚫🎙️”

It began with a beat.

It ended in obsession.

Benzino—rapper, former Source co-owner, and perennial thorn in Eminem’s side—is back with a vengeance.

In a new freestyle that feels more like a time capsule than a diss, Zeno claims he is the architect of Eminem’s controversial legacy.

“I ate his a** up,” he says.

“I cooked him.

” But while Benzino spits bars, Eminem—true to his cold-blooded reputation—hasn’t given him a syllable in months.

And the silence? It’s deafening.

Benzino’s claim? That Eminem built his entire “street” image off of their feud.

That without the Source Magazine controversy, the “Rap Elvis” would’ve never ascended to GOAT status.

And yet, the receipts say otherwise.

While Em was winning Oscars, topping charts, and defining the 2000s with 8 Mile and The Eminem Show, Benzino was losing credibility, losing The Source, and—depending on who you ask—losing the plot.

But this isn’t just a beef.

It’s a psychological loop Benzino can’t escape.

One moment he’s attacking, the next he’s crying on Drink Champs, begging for peace.

“I would hug him,” he once wept.

“We need to sit down.

Just talk.

” But fast forward, and he’s back to calling Em a sheltered, anxiety-ridden white boy who “can’t walk through a mall.

” The contradictions are as loud as the disses.

So why is Benzino spiraling again?

Because Eminem finally acknowledged him.

Briefly.

On Doomsday Part Two, Em fired back in his trademark surgical fashion:

“What’s the opposite of Benzino? A giraffe.

Go at his neck—how the f*** can I go at something he doesn’t have?”

One line.

That’s all it took.

And just like that, Benzino unraveled.

He responded with two diss tracks—Rap Elvis and Vulturius—flinging decades of bitterness into every bar.

He also went after Em’s daughter, again, reigniting one of the darkest chapters of their feud.

Because back in 2003, Benzino infamously rapped about Hailie Mathers meeting the same fate as JonBenét Ramsey.

She was 7.

The backlash was instant—and permanent.

Even now, Benzino insists it was “just lyrical retaliation.

” But Em’s fans never forgot.

And neither did Em.

So when Benzino dragged Hailie into the ring again in 2025, it felt less like a diss and more like a cry for relevance.

But it wasn’t Eminem who clapped back this time.

It was 50 Cent.

Curtis Jackson, never one to miss an opportunity to throw gasoline on an old flame, reposted Benzino’s freestyle with a savage caption:

“Yo, this the worst s*** I heard this year.

The f*** wrong with him? He’s 60 years old, bro.

Nah, this ain’t it.”

Cue meltdown.

Benzino immediately lashed out.

Not at Em—but at 50.

He insulted 50’s parenting.

Took shots at 50’s ex.

Even accused him of needing to “explain” what his son allegedly saw during Diddy’s now-infamous parties.

Then, the kicker:

“I’m down to make a couple M’s.

I’ll go three rounds with your goofy ass.”

A celebrity boxing match? Between Benzino and 50 Cent? Twitter lost its mind.

But here’s the truth: this isn’t about a ring.

It’s not about Eminem.

It’s about legacy.

Benzino knows his name will forever be tied to Em’s—but not as an equal.

As a footnote.

A villain.

A cautionary tale.

And yet, he still insists he’s the real one.

“You can catch me at the craziest gas stations in any hood in America,” he says proudly.

“They know me.

” Meanwhile, he paints Eminem as a reclusive, overprotected introvert—someone who’s never “walked through a mall” without an army of security.

But Benzino’s biggest misstep? Forgetting that Eminem never pretended to be a street rapper.

He never claimed Crip, never repped a block.

He claimed pain.

Abuse.

Addiction.

Mental illness.

He built his legacy not on gangsta bravado—but on vulnerability.

And that’s what fans connected to.

Not his skin color.

Not his image.

His honesty.

Still, Zeno can’t let go of the “culture vulture” label.

“If he was five shades darker,” he once rapped, “he’d be Canibus, and no one would care.

” But Em proved that wrong, too—by obliterating Canibus, Ja Rule, and yes, Benzino.

Not because he was white.

But because he could rap circles around them.

Even the Source Magazine—Benzino’s former empire—couldn’t help.

When it gave The Eminem Show 4 mics instead of 5, Em responded not with an interview, but with bars.

The Sauce.

Nail in the Coffin.

Bulldozer diss tracks that buried Zeno’s credibility with each punchline.

But the obsession didn’t stop.

From 2003 to 2025, Benzino’s timeline is littered with failed disses, boxing threats, leaked phone calls with Paul Rosenberg, and attempts to bait Em back into the mud.

He’s tagged Em.

Posted his address.

Called out his fans.

Threatened violence.

Dared anyone to “pull up.”

And every time?

Eminem ignores him.

Until Doomsday Part Two.

And even then, just a flick of the wrist.

One verse.

No names.

Just smoke.

And now? Nothing.

That’s what’s driving Benzino off the rails again.

Not the line.

Not 50’s trolling.

Not even the embarrassment of being flamed by the entire internet.

It’s the silence.

Eminem isn’t playing the game anymore.

He said what he needed to say—and left Benzino shouting into the wind.

In the end, Benzino’s legacy might be defined not by what he built, but by what he couldn’t destroy.

Because Eminem didn’t just survive the attacks.

He thrived.

And for a man like Benzino—who built a media empire only to lose it in a vendetta—that truth is too bitter to swallow.

So he spits.

Louder.

Angrier.

Older.

And Em?

He doesn’t even flinch.