Cerise

Sorry to say, but cerise
According to a most indelible source
Who lives near hue
Is out of it
True, cerise is definitely out
About as out as out's opposite of in
Don’t ask me why
Doesn't make any more sense to me than it does to you
To see cerise sitting
Silly, sad
Moping, melancholy, mad
Here in the deepest of dumps

Come, come cerise
What do you think pink'll think
And if fuchsia could see you fussing so
And, oh what gray would say
No, I’m sorry cerise
With your talent for tinging
You should be ashamed!
Every shade of you should

Now you get up
And get out
And start tinging
Or I'll call the police

Did you hear me, cerise?
The police
Cerise, did you hear me?