Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I am Uncle Ruckus.
So there. Fine, then get the fuck on.
* Golf has a black smudge On its face *
Well, I should be gettin' back to the hotel.
No, no, no, sir. No, sir.
He inspired my love for racist music.
He? Jimmy Rebel.
* Keep to yourself Stay away from mine *
* Steal some gas For your Cadillac-ie *
When your people were invaded by mexicans
Come on, hurry up, look!
* Not just one *
Look, Mr. Rebel, I think they might be right.
Don't Let Your Nigglets Grow Up to Be Niggers.
I've teamed up with another musician,
* But keep their black hands Off of my NASCAR *
That'd be weird. Yeah, well, no, sir.
Give him a chance! Give him a chance?
I can make you some s'mores or something.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
* Head downtown With them coons and clowns *
Oh, yes. Yes I did, Robert.
I hope we can keep outta NASCAR.
What the hell's goin' on? Lord!
I'm sorry, Mr. Rebel.
Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!
How y'all doin'?
* That extra bone in they leg Is right for running *
Well, I better be gettin' on.
Goddamn Nigerians.
Wait, you mean the racist singer?
Oh, well, is Mr. Ruckus home?
Lord knows I do.
It's a charade, wrapped in a facade, covered in a lie.
"Racist Records," Jimmy.
Ruckus is more of a racist than anyone in this room.
Come on out, nigger!
* You nigger *