text_original: Your delicate bits will not serve me a meal, But my master each day gives me bread; You'll fly, when you get what you came here to steal, And I must be hang'd in your stead.
text_transcription: YOUR DELICATE BITS WILL NOT SERVE ME A MEAL BUT MY MASTER EACH DAY GIVES ME BREAD YOU'LL FLY WHEN YOU GET WHAT YOU CAME HERE TO STEAL AND I MUST BE HANGED IN YOUR STEAD
phonemes: jʊɹ dˈɛlᵻkət bˈɪts wɪl nˌɑːt sˈɜːv mˌiː ɐ mˈiːl, bˌʌt maɪ mˈæstɚɹ ˈiːtʃ dˈeɪ ɡˈɪvz mˌiː bɹˈɛd; juːl flˈaɪ, wˌɛn juː ɡɛt wʌt juː kˈeɪm hˈɪɹ tə stˈiːl, ænd aɪ mˈʌst biː hˈæŋd ɪn jʊɹ stˈɛd.