Jitters

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Jitters motherfucker, that’s what that is:
Puking up his guts during the pregame warm-up.
It don’t matter though; he’s still gonna get his.
Twenty and ten—if you’re guarding him tough.
J’s right in your face. Money. Money.
Like you ain’t even there; like a game of horse.
But oh, those jitters… you know, it’s funny;
He’s a lamb in the locker-room, a lion on the court.

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