Whispers in the Dark is a staple in Mhorlock history. We did a number of different versions, changing beats and lyrics alike, including one that featured Mr. Khaliyl, UG from Dwellas, and my man Stiches a/k/a Steven King. I brought this back by popular demand with a brand new twist.

Don't cross that line in the sand
I got lyrics quick to kick your tooth out and clothesline your man
Breakin' you shit like Andy Kaufman, your spine softens
Murderin' any beat you get on, now you're an orphan
I get up in your mind like preachers speakin' Divine Right
except my design's tight
Grabbin' the mic and turnin' night clubs in to mosh-pit style fight clubs
synced up to heavy-metal dubs
Some days I wanna purge this rap shit
through gunshots and homicidal urges
Instead I load skills in the barrel and put holes in your head like humpbacks
to make emcees buckle and slump back
A victim to the Kane level of raw--Fuck a ten-count
Long as I make you jaw dismount
Son, it's OJ, codename: Whisper
A lethal weapon with an infinite salvo of ammo to hit ya

[Chorus]
Stand up, hands up, grab the atmosphere
When Omega's in the spot, be crystal clear
It ain't them loud motherfuckas that you need to fear
Avoid the whispers in the dark because the danger is near

I rush the stage and hand out dilemmas
like gifts in December, choppin' through foes like timber
Watch the temper--I got brothas that function
like firing pins, blastin' your assumptions
When OJ's in the streets you need to show your respect by wiping your feet
and rehearsin' rapid retreats
This ain't just rappin' with beats, it's the Wrath of Elite, trappin' with heat
I ghost dudes in battle, medics come to wrap 'em in sheets
You can't compete, handle that beef
with your chick; She's the one who chose on catchin' my skeet
Handle defeat like a man and your chapter's complete
Otherwise you're just a trick dog dancin' for treats
Your shit's weak; at the beach I kick sand at your physique
My speech hits hard the Stonefist Technique
I'm a convicted killer of this shit, your demise in imminent
All thoughts of rebellion should be reconsidered, dick

[Chorus]
Stand up, hands up, grab the atmosphere
When Omega's in the spot, be crystal clear
It ain't them loud motherfuckas that you need to fear
Avoid the whispers in the dark because the danger is near

Comin' outta Queens, it's the 21st Century Jim Kelly
that hits ya like a painful memory
Dok Who, also known as Mr. O
I rock crews, leaving few like Jeet Kune Do
Rippin' on fools, flippin' the rules and straight trippin'
with the force of old-fashioned Jamaican ass-whippins
I'm done with the false prophets and photo thugs
This ain't the Matric--you'll never see them slo-mo slugs
You wanna see me? Then feel for the power of 7
as I grind, globe-steppin' like I'm Meadowlark Lemon
When I lay it on the line I'm fightin' for mine
like drunken Kung Fu masters to Chinese ghetto blasters
Understand how my click gets down
We're them Monster Trucks fillin' up the streets of your town
Shhhh... I'm-a snuff out your spark
Committed to them surgical strikes like whispers in the dark

Credits

Lyrics and Production by Omega Johnson for The Nunayufake Project
Published by Nunayufake Music (BMI)
Recorded in the Savage Land
Engineered, Mixed and Mastered by Alan Scott Plotkin at Virgo Studios, New York
©2004 Omega Johnson. All Rights Reserved.

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