Just substitute “McCain” for “Stokes” and this should be pretty close.

STOKES

Get me a mike-a-phone!

A mike is thrust into his hand and he bellows into it,
overwhelming the music, which the boys eventually abandon.
Stokes continues bellowing into the silence:

STOKES
These boys is not white! These boys
is not white! Hell, they ain’t even
ol’-timey! I happen to know, ladies’n
gentlemen, this band a miscreants
here, this very evening, they
interfered with a lynch mob inna
performance of its duties!

The crowd stares at him, stone-faced. Stokes plows on:

STOKES
It’s true! I b’long to a certain
society, I don’t believe I gotta
mention its name, heh-heh…

Nobody joins in the laugh; Stokes slowly strangles on it.

STOKES
…Ahem. And these boys here trampled
all over our venerated observances
an’ rich’ls! Now this-here music is
over! I aim to -

Boos start up among the crowd.

STOKES
I aim to hand these boys over to –
listen to me, folks!

The boos are growing in volume. There are cries of ‘More
music!’ and even one ‘Shut up, pencil-neck!’

STOKES
Listen to me! These boys desecrated
a fiery cross!

More boos. Waldrip approaches and nudges the microphone away
to murmur confidentially in Stokes’ ear. Stokes excitedly
retrieves the mike and struggles to be heard:

STOKES
And they convicts! Fugitives, folks,
escaped off the farm!

This cuts no ice; the boos have become overwhelming.

STOKES
Folks, these boys gotta be remanded
the ‘thorities! Criminals! And I
happen to have it from the highest
authority that that Neegra sold his
soul to the devil!

He is hit by a tomato.

In related news, I am kicking myself for missing the opportunity to call McCain “Soggy Bottom Boy” during election season. Nullus.