text_original: Ye'll fetch back to Kaintuck, and draw every redskin in the north woods suckin' after ye like leaves in a harricane wind. There hain't a man of ye has the pluck of this little shaver that beats the drum. I wish to God McChesney was here."
text_transcription: YOU'LL FETCH BACK TO KENTUCK AND DRAW EVERY REDSKIN IN THE NORTHWOOD SUCKING AFTER YOU LIKE LEAVES IN A HURRICANE WIND THERE AIN'T A MAN OF YOU HAS THE PLUCK OF THIS LITTLE SHAVER THAT BEATS THE DRUM I WISH TO GOD IN A CHESTNA WAS HERE
phonemes: jˌiːəl fˈɛtʃ bˈæk tə kˈaɪntʌk, ænd dɹˈɔː ˈɛvɹi ɹˈɛdskɪn ɪnðə nˈɔːɹθ wˈʊdz sˈʌkɪn ˈæftɚ jiː lˈaɪk lˈiːvz ɪn ɐ hˈæɹɪkˌeɪn wˈɪnd. ðɛɹ hˈeɪnt ɐ mˈæn ʌv jiː hɐz ðə plˈʌk ʌv ðɪs lˈɪɾəl ʃˈeɪvɚ ðæt bˈiːts ðə dɹˈʌm. aɪ wˈɪʃ tə ɡˈɑːd mə tʃˈɛsni wʌz hˈɪɹ."