I hear so often that white is right,
And if not, go with red, instead.
I hear a barrage about camouflage,
It should be green or blood will be shed.
I am forced to make a tough choice between blue and turquoise
And I hear style gets a boon from a dash of maroon.
I’m told by every Yenta, “to just try on magenta.”
Yet, the styles go quickly, so I look like a buffoon.
But black doesn’t lack, just put it on a plaque.
It’s just the right color for me.
I end up looking like a clown in dusty old brown.
And I can’t stand the sight of capri.
They say, “Hey, who’s that fellow wearing that grimy yellow?”
Then I’m in a bad mood, for this insult, so crude.
I go home and weep and then my heart takes a leap.
I see a color with a contrast that’s rude.
The overuse of pink has gone way past the brink.
The benefits of gray, are just hearsay.
There was never a pleasant hue of that ever-present blue.
And the appeal of teal is one that will decay.
But black doesn’t lack, and it’s mirac-
ulous that we have never seen its beauty as a fact.
So don’t wait for someone’s death, wear it ‘til your final breath.
Black doesn’t lack, black doesn’t lack,
Black never ever could lack.