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Lyle: [Taunting the mainly-black railworkers] When you was slaves, you sang like birds. Come on! How about a good old nigger work song? [Enraged, the workers move to attack him, but are stopped by Bart. He promptly proceeds to sing.] Bart: [Crooning, Sammy Davis, Jr.-style, with fellow railworkers providing backing vocals] I get no kick from champagne... Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all...[the bullying supervisors look immensely confused and insulted] so why then should it be true?... that I get a belt - outta you... Some get a kick from coca-yeai-yeaiiiinnnneee... Lyle: Hold it! Hold it! What the hell is that shit?! I meant a song! A real song! Something like [singing] "Swing low, sweet chariot"... [The railworkers mumble to each other in mock confusion] Lyle: Don't know that one, huh. Well how about "De Camptown Ladies"? Bart: De Camptown Ladies? Railworkers: De Camptown Ladies? Lyle: Oh, you know! "De Camptown ladies sing this song, doo-dah, doo-dah! Camptown Race Track five miles long, oh-de-do-da-dahy!" [The white supervisors begin joining in, complete with ludicrous dancing actions, much to the amusement of the railworkers. Suddenly, Taggart rides in aboard a galloping horse, shooting wildly into the air, interrupting the song, and scattering the white supervisors aside.] Taggart: What in the Wide Wide World of Sports is a-goin' on here? I hired you people to get some track laid, not to jump around like a bunch of Kansas City faggots!

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