text_original: "Trouble?" cried Mr. Sevier, with a quick fling of his whip at an unruly hound, "Harrodstown, Boonesboro, Logan's Fort at St. Asaph's,  they don't dare stick their noses outside the stockades. The Indians have swarmed into Kentucky like red ants, I tell you.
text_transcription: TROUBLE CRIED MISTER SEVIER WITH A QUICK FLING OF HIS WHIP AT AN UNRULY HOUND PARROTSTOWN BOONSBORO LOGAN'S FORD AT SAINT ESSE'S THEY DON'T DARE STICK THEIR NOSES OUTSIDE THE STOCKADES THE INDIANS HAD SWARMED INTO KENTUCKY LIKE RED ANTS I TELL YOU
phonemes: "tɹˈʌbəl?" kɹˈaɪd mˈɪstɚ. sˈɛviɚ, wɪð ɐ kwˈɪk flˈɪŋ ʌv hɪz wˈɪp æɾ ɐn ʌnɹˈuːli hˈaʊnd, "hˈæɹədstˌaʊn, bˈuːnɪsbɚɹˌoʊ, lˈoʊɡənz fˈɔːɹt æt sənt. ɐsˈæfz,  ðeɪ dˈoʊnt dˈɛɹ stˈɪk ðɛɹ nˈoʊzᵻz aʊtsˈaɪd ðə stˈɑːkeɪdz. ðɪ ˈɪndiənz hæv swˈɔːɹmd ˌɪntʊ kɛntˈʌki lˈaɪk ɹˈɛd ˈænts, aɪ tˈɛl juː.