text_original: WAIL OF AN OLD TIMER Each new invention doubles our worries an' our troubles, These scientific fellows are spoilin' of our land; With motor, wire, an' cable, now' days we're scarcely able To walk or ride in peace o' mind, an' 'tisn't safe to stand.
text_transcription: RENEE TO SUSA EACH NEW INVENTION DOUBLES OUR WORRIES AND OUR TROUBLES THESE SCIENTIFIC FELLOWS ARE SPOILING OF OUR LAND WITH MOTOR WIRE AND CABLE NOWADAYS WE'RE SCARCELY ABLE TO WALK OR RIDE IN PEACE OF MIND AND TISN'T SAFE TO STAND
phonemes: wˈeɪl əvən ˌoʊˌɛldˈiː tˈaɪmɚɹ ˈiːtʃ nˈuː ɪnvˈɛnʃən dˈʌbəlz ˌaʊɚ wˈʌɹiz æn ˌaʊɚ tɹˈʌbəlz, ðiːz saɪəntˈɪfɪk fˈɛloʊz ɑːɹ spˈɔɪlɪn ʌv ˌaʊɚ lˈænd; wɪð mˈoʊɾɚ, wˈaɪɚ, æn kˈeɪbəl, nˈaʊ dˈeɪz wɪɹ skˈɛɹsli ˈeɪbəl tə wˈɔːk ɔːɹ ɹˈaɪd ɪn pˈiːs ˈoʊ mˈaɪnd, æn tˈɪsənt sˈeɪf tə stˈænd.