For decades, Bootsy Collins stood as the cosmic godfather of funk, dressed in wild outfits and star-shaped sunglasses, slapping his bass like it was born to dance. A trailblazer, a joy-spreader, and a man who never seemed to carry a grudge—until now.

But beneath the sequins and smiles, there were names he never said out loud. Stories he never wanted to revisit. Until one quiet night in a podcast studio, when Bootsy took off the glasses, leaned in close to the mic, and said, “Let’s talk about the ones I couldn’t stand.”

Yes, he named them.

Six female singers. Six women whose voices may have touched millions—but left Bootsy shaking his head in silence. “I’ve worked with everybody. I’ve loved a lot of people. But some? Some I wish I’d never met.”

And the list will leave you stunned.

“She came in like she owned the studio,” Bootsy recalled. “Didn’t say hi to nobody. Just snapped her fingers and started yelling about the lighting.”

Though he didn’t name her immediately, fans were quick to speculate it was a Grammy-winning singer from the early 2000s. Bootsy said she disrespected his crew, ignored rehearsals, and treated the session musicians “like backup dancers.”

“She had the voice, but no soul,” he said. “There’s a difference between being talented and being unbearable.”

According to Bootsy, this singer was all charm at first—until the cameras left the room.

“She acted like a queen in public. But behind closed doors, she tried to get every producer on her side by lying about the rest of us.”

Their collaboration, which was once considered a dream pairing in the industry, fell apart before the second track.

“She used her smile as a weapon,” he said. “And I saw the damage it did.”

“She had this aura like she knew everything,” Bootsy said. “But when it came to music—she didn’t listen.”

He described a tense week in the studio where the artist constantly rejected input, refused to harmonize, and argued over tempos.

“I don’t care how many crystals you bring to the session,” he joked bitterly. “If you won’t let the music breathe, it’s gonna die.”

This collaboration, once hyped as “funk meets soul for the future,” was scrapped before it hit radio.

This one hurt the most.

“She was someone I admired,” Bootsy admitted. “She paved the way for a lot of women in funk. But somewhere along the way, she decided I was her enemy.”

Bootsy described how she would refuse interviews if he was involved, blocked joint tour proposals, and even trashed him publicly in an interview from 1998.

“I never understood the hate,” he said. “I never disrespected her. I think maybe she just hated seeing someone else shine.”

Fans speculate this may refer to a famous female funk icon known for her fiery personality and short-lived comebacks.

This singer, according to Bootsy, started out with “real class and artistry”—until fame twisted her.

“She didn’t just change. She transformed,” he said. “Suddenly she was showing up drunk, demanding her vocals be auto-tuned, and firing people mid-session.”

Bootsy walked out of that collaboration halfway through, saying, “If the vibe’s toxic, I don’t care who you are—I’m gone.”

“She’s the only one I’d call dangerous,” Bootsy said.

In a chilling confession, he claimed one female artist actively tried to ruin his career. “She called promoters, told them I was unstable. Told labels I was impossible to work with.”

What had he done to deserve this? “Turned down a second collaboration,” he said. “That was it.”

The story shocked even longtime fans. “You never expect people to take it that far,” he said. “But the industry’s full of smiling assassins.”

“I’m 73,” Bootsy said. “I’ve got more years behind me than ahead. I ain’t trying to start beef—I’m just being real. People think funk was always peace, love, and groove. But sometimes, it was survival.”

He said these stories haunted him not because of the drama—but because of what was lost. “We could’ve made magic. But ego got in the way.”

When asked if he ever considered forgiving those women, Bootsy gave a long pause.

“I don’t hate them as people. I just hated who they were back then. Maybe they’ve changed. Maybe I have too.”

Within hours of the interview airing, fans exploded with theories and praise.

“Bootsy speaking his truth without naming names is class,” one fan tweeted. “You feel the pain but also the grace.”

Others begged for a follow-up episode: “We need a part two. Give us initials!”

Still, many admired his restraint. “He could’ve dragged them. He didn’t. That’s real grown-man energy.”

In the end, Bootsy Collins didn’t name names for scandal. He did it to cleanse the record. “People think being in music is all fun. But it’s a battlefield of egos.”

As he stood up, adjusted his iconic shades, and smiled that familiar grin, he added, “But funk is still love, baby. Even if you gotta walk through some hate to get there.”

“To the women I clashed with—if you’re listening—I hope you found peace. I did. But it took me 40 years and a lot of bass.”

And with that, the legend walked away—his truth finally spoken, the funk still intact.