text_original: 178 ON TRAMP. Oh ! place your hand, my lass, in mine, And off and away we *11 go, For little we care what serves for fare. Or makes the bed below. And we never are sad as we journey along, Though smile or frown the day. For the worst of our luck we turn to a song, In our careless tramping way. 179 THE WAY NO LOVERS KNEW.
text_transcription: ON TRAMP O PLACE YOUR HAND MY LASS IN MINE AND OFF AND AWAY WE'LL GO FOR LITTLE WE CARE WHAT SERVES FOR FAIR OR MAKES THE BED BELOW AND WE NEVER ARE SAD AS WE JOURNEY ALONG THOUGH SMILE OR FROWN THE DAY FOR THE WORST OF OUR LUCK WE TURN TO A SONG IN OUR CARELESS TRAMPING WAY THE WAY NO LOVERS KNEW
phonemes: wˈʌnhˈʌndɹɪd sˈɛvənti ˈeɪt ˌɔn tɹˈæmp. ˈoʊ ! plˈeɪs jʊɹ hˈænd, maɪ lˈæs, ɪn mˈaɪn, ænd ˈɔf ænd ɐwˈeɪ wiː ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ɪlˈɛvən ɡˈoʊ, fɔːɹ lˈɪɾəl wiː kˈɛɹ wʌt sˈɜːvz fɔːɹ fˈɛɹ. ɔːɹ mˌeɪks ðə bˈɛd bᵻlˈoʊ. ænd wiː nˈɛvɚɹ ɑːɹ sˈæd æz wiː dʒˈɜːni ɐlˈɔŋ, ðˌoʊ smˈaɪl ɔːɹ fɹˈaʊn ðə dˈeɪ. fɚðə wˈɜːst ʌv ˌaʊɚ lˈʌk wiː tˈɜːn tʊ ɐ sˈɔŋ, ɪn ˌaʊɚ kˈɛɹləs tɹˈæmpɪŋ wˈeɪ. wˈʌnhˈʌndɹɪd sˈɛvənti nˈaɪn ðə wˈeɪ nˈoʊ lˈʌvɚz nˈuː.