By admin 
Introduction
It sounds like a fever dream, but in 1968, the “High Priest of Country Music” decided his true calling was… hamburgers.
Not just any hamburgers. Conway Twitty was convinced he was sitting on a goldmine: the “Twitty Burger,” a culinary monstrosity topped with a batter-dipped, deep-fried pineapple ring and a graham cracker crust. He was so charismatic, so utterly convincing, that he charmed 75 of his closest friends and industry titans—including legends like Merle Haggard—into investing their hard-earned cash. He raised what would be millions today, promising a fast-food empire that would rival McDonald’s.
It was a catastrophe.
Within months, the “Twitty Burger” chain imploded. The concept was a disaster, the management was nonexistent, and the money vanished into thin air. Legally, Conway was in the clear. He could have filed for bankruptcy, walked away, and left his friends holding the bag. That’s what a “smart” businessman would do. But Conway Twitty wasn’t a businessman; he was a man of honor.
He looked at the wreckage and made a vow: he would pay back every single cent, out of his own pocket, to every person who trusted him. It took years. He toured relentlessly, singing until his throat bled, funneling his royalties into debt repayment. He finally made everyone whole.
But the IRS didn’t care about honor. They audited him. They claimed that repaying debts he wasn’t legally forced to pay was not a valid business deduction. They dragged him to tax court, expecting to crush him.
What happened next is the stuff of legal legend. Conway took the stand and explained that in Country Music, your word is your bond—if he stiffed his friends, his career would be over. The presiding judge didn’t just agree; he was so moved by Conway’s integrity that he actually wrote his final verdict as a poem. The “Ode to Conway Twitty” is now permanently recorded in US Case Law, a surreal tribute to a man who fought the government for the right to be honest.