text_original: Every morning as we set out with the wet hide chafing our skin, the Colonel would run the length of the regiment, crying:   "Who gives the feast to night, boys?"
text_transcription: EVERY MORNING AS WE SET OUT WITH THE WET HIDE CHAFING OUR SKIN THE COLONEL WOULD RUN THE LENGTH OF THE REGIMENT CRYING WHO GIVES THE FEAST TO NIGHT BOYS
phonemes: ˈɛvɹi mˈɔːɹnɪŋ æz wiː sˈɛt ˈaʊt wɪððə wˈɛt hˈaɪd tʃˈeɪfɪŋ ˌaʊɚ skˈɪn, ðə kˈɜːnəl wʊd ɹˈʌn ðə lˈɛŋθ ʌvðə ɹˈɛdʒɪmənt, kɹˈaɪɪŋ:   "hˌuː ɡˈɪvz ðə fˈiːst tə nˈaɪt, bˈɔɪz?"