text_original: But long o' her his veins 'ould run All crinkly like curled maple, The side she breshed felt full o' sun Ez a south slope in Ap'il. She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing Ez hisn in the choir; My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, She _knowed_ the Lord was nigher.
text_transcription: BUT LONG O'ER HIS VEINS UD RUN ALL CRINKLY LIKE CURLED MAPLE THE SIDE SHE BRUSHED FELT FULL O SUN AS A SOUTH SLOPE IN APRIL SHE THOUGHT NO VICE HAD SECH A SWING AS HIS'N IN THE CHOIR MY WHEN HE MADE OLE RING SHE KNOWED THE LORD WAS NIGHER
phonemes: bˌʌt lˈɔŋ ˈoʊ hɜː hɪz vˈeɪnz ˈʊd ɹˈʌn ˈɔːl kɹˈɪŋkli lˈaɪk kˈɜːld mˈeɪpəl, ðə sˈaɪd ʃiː bɹˈɛʃt fˈɛlt fˈʊl ˈoʊ sˈʌn ˈɛz ɐ sˈaʊθ slˈoʊp ɪn ɐpˈɪl. ʃiː θˈɔːt nˈoʊ vˈiːˈaɪs hˈɛd sˈɛtʃ ɐ swˈɪŋ ˈɛz hˈɪsən ɪnðə kwˈaɪɚ; mˈaɪ! wˌɛn hiː mˌeɪd ˈoʊl hˈʌndɜːd ɹˈɪŋ, ʃiː nˈoʊd ðə lˈɔːɹd wʌz nˈaɪɚ.