The title says it all. Hobos are, in fact, cool.
Lyrics
Hobos, winos, bums and tramps
They're all a bunch of loveable scamps
They should be immortalized
On postage stamps
"Now why are hobos cool?" you ask
My friend, it's plain to see
That only hobos know the
meaning of true liberty
They've got no boss, no bills, no rules
They ride the trains for free
Oh, if I had a choice in life
A hobo I would be
Vagabonds, drifters, soiled vagrants
Always leave a peculiar fragrance
They stumble into Dairy Queen
And crap their pants
Or else they flash their private parts
At the gates of the county fair
Scaring wholesome families
Then retreating to their lairs
I suppose that I could be a carnie
Or a pirate on the sea
But if I had a choice in life
A hobo I would be
Some live down in the junkyard
Some live down by the creek
Singin' and stabbin' hobos
Free booze is all they seek
Now, if "punk" means "making your own rules"
And scorning society
Then hobos are more "punk" than
Any "crusty punk" I've seen
Everyone in town is a fan
Of the local hobo dwarf
He'll sing and dance for quarters
On a pier down by the wharf
He'll paint your fence and chicken coop
For a can of beans and pork
But don't you go back on your word
Or he'll stab you with a fork
When he gets tired of city life
He rides the train away
He hops into an open caboose
And he never has to pay
Oh, what I wouldn't give to live
like a hobo, so carefree
Yes, if I had a choice in life
A hobo I would be