text_original: You never even tried to work on my plans for Number Ten." "Neale, what in hell do you suppose we're out here for?" demanded Coffee, harshly. "They're all getting a slice of this money. There's barrels of it. The directors of the road are crooked.
text_transcription: YOU NEVER EVEN TRIED TO WORK ON MY PLANS FOR NUMBER TEN NEO WHAT IN HELL YOU SUPPOSE WE AREN'T HERE FOR DEMANDED CONY HARSHLY THEY'RE ALL GETTING A SLICE OF THIS MONEY THERE'S BARREL'S OF IT THE DIRECTORS OF THE ROAD ARE CROOKED
phonemes: juː nˈɛvɚɹ ˈiːvən tɹˈaɪd tə wˈɜːk ˌɔn maɪ plˈænz fɔːɹ nˈʌmbɚ tˈɛn." "nˈiːl, wˌʌt ɪn hˈɛl dˈuː juː səpˈoʊz wɪɹ ˈaʊt hˈɪɹ fɔːɹ?" dᵻmˈændᵻd kˈɔfi, hˈɑːɹʃli. "ðeɪɚɹ ˈɔːl ɡˌɛɾɪŋ ɐ slˈaɪs ʌv ðɪs mˈʌni. ðɛɹz bˈæɹəlz ʌv ɪt. ðə dᵻɹˈɛktɚz ʌvðə ɹˈoʊd ɑːɹ kɹˈʊkɪd.