The last neighborhood that we lived in the ice cream van was pretty scary too. It was an old 70s/80s Chevy G-10 that looked like it had been painted purple with a brush. The driver, if he wasn't on the sex offender register, he sure looked like he belonged there. My wife was terrified of the guys.

Around here, the trucks themselves are far creepier- typically clapped-out late '80s/early '90s FedEx-style trucks, rusty in all the wrong places and with an engine note that sounds like someone pushed Neil Peart down a spiral staircase. The drivers all seem to be Eastern European immigrants who materialize out of nowhere in May and are nowhere to be found come October. The music, though, isn't so much creepy as hellishly annoying- usually a vaguely hip-hopped ripoff of various nursery rhymes, so I think I'd actually prefer this level of creepery for a change.
I just realized that I've given way too much thought to ice cream trucks. I need to take a shower. With Napalm.

The local ice-cream truck plays "Turkey in the Straw". That's all it ever plays, and there's only one truck.
I'm almost looking forward to winter.