text_original: He's lord of many a burg and farm And mickle thralls and gold, And I am but my own right arm, My dwelling place the wold. But when we twain meet face to face, He will hot laugh so bold. The shame he chuckles as he shows This time he need not tell; I'll give his body to the crows, And his black soul to Hell. For he that laughs the last, lads, Laughs well, laughs well!
text_transcription: HE'S LORD OF MANY A BERKEN FARM AND MICKEL THRALLS AND GOLD AND I AM BUT MY OWN RIGHT ARM MY DWELLING PLACE THE BOLD BUT WHEN WE TWAIN MEET FACE TO FACE HE WILL NOT LAUGH SO BOLD THE SHAME HE CHUCKLES AS HE SHOWS THIS TIME HE NEED NOT TELL I'LL GIVE HIS BODY TO THE CROWS AND HIS BLACK SOUL TO HELL FOR HE THAT LAUGHS THE LAST LADS LAUGHS WELL LAUGHS WELL
phonemes: hiːz lˈɔːɹd ʌv mˈɛni ɐ bˈɜːɡ ænd fˈɑːɹm ænd mˈɪkəl θɹˈɔːlz ænd ɡˈoʊld, ænd aɪɐm bˌʌt maɪ ˈoʊn ɹˈaɪt ˈɑːɹm, maɪ dwˈɛlɪŋ plˈeɪs ðə wˈoʊld. bˌʌt wɛn wiː twˈeɪn mˈiːt fˈeɪs tə fˈeɪs, hiː wɪl hˈɑːt lˈæf sˌoʊ bˈoʊld. ðə ʃˈeɪm hiː tʃˈʌkəlz æz hiː ʃˈoʊz ðɪs tˈaɪm hiː nˈiːd nˌɑːt tˈɛl; aɪl ɡˈɪv hɪz bˈɑːdi tə ðə kɹˈoʊz, ænd hɪz blˈæk sˈoʊl tə hˈɛl. fɔːɹ hiː ðæt lˈæfs ðə lˈæst, lˈædz, lˈæfs wˈɛl, lˈæfs wˈɛl!