ICE CUBE


My Summer Vacation Lyrics

[Airline Attendant]
This is the final boarding call for flight 1259
departing from Los Angeles, final destination to St. Louis
Thank you

[Ice Cube]
Damn G, the spot's gettin hot
So how the fuck am I supposed to make a knot?
Police looking at niggaz through a microscope
In L.A. everybody and they momma sell dope
They trying to stop it
So what the fuck can I do to make a profit?
Catch a flight to St. Louis
That's cool, cause nobody knew us
We stepped off the plane
Four gang bangers, professional crack slangers
Rented a car at Wholesale
Drove to the ghetto, and checked in a motel
Unpacked and I grabbed the 3.80
Cos where we staying, niggaz look shady
But they can't fade South Central
Cos busting a cap is fundamental
Peeping out every block close
Seeing which one will clock the most
Yeah, this is the one, no doubt
Bust a U Bone, and let's clear these niggaz out

"Hey! Hey man! Whassup nigga?
This is Lynch Mob nigga" (tires squeal)

Now clearing them out meant casualties
Still had the L.A. mentality
Bust a cap, and outta there in a hurry
Wouldn't you know, a drive-by in Missouri
Them fools got popped
Took their corner next day, set up shop
And it's better than slanging in the Valley
Triple the profit making more than I did in Cali
Breaking up rocks like Barney Rubble
Cos them mark-ass niggaz don't want trouble
And we ain't on edge when we do work
Police don't recognize the khakis and the sweatshirts
Getting bitches and they can't stand a
1991 Tony Montana
Now the shit's like a war - Gang violence
where it was never seen before
Punks run when the gats bust
4 jheri curled niggaz kicking up dust
And some of them are even looking up to us
Wearing our colors and talking that gang Fuck,
giving up much much love
Dying for a street that they ain't never heard of
But other motherfuckers want to stand strong
So you know the phrase, "once again it's on..."

[TV Newscaster]
At the top of the news tonight:
A gang from South Central Los Angeles, which are known for their drive-by shootings,
have migrated into east St. Louis leaving 3 dead and 2 others injured. No arrests have
been made. Police say this is a nation-wide trend, with similar incidents occurring in
Texas, Michigan, and Oklahoma.

(female voice repeating in background:
"If it can happen here, it can happen anywhere")


BOOM, my homie got shot he's a gonner black
St. Louis niggaz want they corner back
Shooting in snowy weather
It's illegal business, niggaz still can't stick together
Fuckin police got the 411
that L.A. ain't all, surf and sun
But we ain't thinking bout them boys
Feudin, like the Hatfields and McCoys
Now the shit's gettin tricky
Cuz now they looking for tha colorz and the Dickie's
Damn, the spot's getting hot from the battle
I'm a\bout to pack up and start slinging in Seattle
But the NARCs, raid about six in the morning
Try to catch a nigga while he's yawnin
Put his glock to my chest as I paused
Went to jail in my motherfuckin drawers
Tryin to give me, fifty-seven years
Face'll be full of those tattooed tears
It's the same old story and the same old nigga stuck
And the public defender ain't givin a fuck
The fool must be sparkin
Talkin about a double life plea bargain
You got to deal with the Crips and Bloods by hand G
Plus the Black Guerilla family
And the white pride don't like Northside
And it's a riot if any more niggaz die
No parole or probation
Now this is a young man's Summer Vacation
No chance for rehabilitation
Cuz look at the muthafucking years that I'm facing
I'ma end it like this cuz you know what's up
My life is fucked

"Police eat a dick, straight up"

[Pig 1]
"Look here you little goddamn nigger,
you're not gatling nobody, you fuckin' understand me?!
That's right, now get down on the goddamn
ground! NOW! Fuckin' move! NOOWW!"

[Pig 2]
"Let me take a shot at him!"

[Pig 1]
"We gonna do you like King (What goddamn King?)
Rodney King, Martin Luther King, and all the
goddamn kings of Africa!"

[Ice Cube]
"Look out motherfucka!" (3 gunshots)

Songwriter(s): O'shea Jackson
Copyright: Gangsta Boogie Music, WB Music Corp.
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