Terence Winter - The Wolf of Wall Street: "Prologue" lyrics

INSERT - TV COMMERCIAL - DAY Over jungle sound effects, the CAMERA is low, moving through brush from the POV of a stalking animal. As the brush parts, revealing Wall Street and the New York Stock Exchange, we HEAR the resonant voice of GENE HACKMAN. GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): The world of investing can be a jungle. *WE SEE a charging, snorting BULL.* GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): Bulls. WE SEE a ferocious, growling BEAR. GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): Bears. Danger at every turn. *Pretentious CLASSICAL MUSIC kicks in.* GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): That's why we at Stratton Oakmont pride ourselves on being the best. *VARIOUS SHOTS -- a conservative young MAN reviews a stock portfolio with a wealthy older COUPLE; a smiling young WOMAN sits before a computer talking into a headset.* GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): Trained professionals to guide you through the financial wilderness. *WE SEE the Stratton "team" - an ethnically diverse group of ACTORS with their handsome, grey-templed "CHAIRMAN".* GENE HACKMAN (V.O.): Stratton Oakmont. Stabilty. Integrity. Pride. WE SEE a shot of the black gla** Stratton Building, and: CUT TO: INT. STRATTON OAKMONT III - BULLPEN - DAY (FEB `95) *Absolute bedlam. 300 drunken STOCKBROKERS, most in their early 20s, chant wildly as JORDAN BELFORT, handsome, 30, stands beside a DWARF dressed in tights, cape & helmet.* JORDAN: Twenty five grand to the first co*ks**er to nail a bullseye! *The "bullseye" is a large dollar sign in the middle of a giant velcro "dartboard".* JORDAN (CONT'D): Watch and learn, people! *The Brokers go apesh** as Jordan grabs the Dwarf by his pants and collar. In the Crowd, cash flies as side bets are made. Jordan winds up, aims for the "dartboard".* JORDAN (CONT'D): One. Two. Throw!! *The Brokers cheer, and as the screaming Dwarf takes flight, hurtling toward camera, we FREEZE FRAME:* JORDAN (V.O.) (CONT'D): My name is Jordan Belfort. No, not him, me. I'm a former member of the middle cla** raised by two accountants in a tiny apartment in Bayside, Queens. FLASH TO: A SERIES OF POLAROIDS -- (1969) Jordan, 7, smiles as he poses behind a lemonade stand, his parents Max and Leah behind him; Jordan, 13, stands holding a styrofoam cooler, selling ices on the beach; Jordan, 18, smiles as he holds an Amway sales brochure. JORDAN (V.O.): The year I turned 26, I made 49 million dollars as the head of my own brokerage firm-- CUT TO: EXT. LONG ISLAND EXPRESSWAY – DAY (FEB `95) A CHERRY RED Ferrari Testarossa ZOOMS down the L.I.E. JORDAN (V.O.): --which really pissed me off because it was three shy of a million a week. The Ferrari weaves in and out of traffic. JORDAN (V.O.): Hey, my Ferrari was white, like Don Johnson's in Miami Vice. *We see the same Ferrari, now in WHITE, as it zooms away, a BLONDE head bobbing up and down in Jordan's lap.* EXT. LONG ISLAND'S NORTH SHORE – DAY (FEB `95) *A twin-engine Bell Jet helicopter descends over a huge mansion, with sparkling pool, tennis court and waterfall.* JORDAN (V.O.): See that humongous estate down there? That's my house. INT. JORDAN'S ESTATE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY (FEB `95) *We see NAOMI, 24, blonde and gorgeous, a living wet dream in LaPerla lingerie.* JORDAN (V.O.): My wife, Naomi, the Duchess of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, a former model and Miller Lite girl. *Naomi licks her lips; she's incredibly, painfully hot.* JORDAN (V.O.): Yeah, she was the one blowing me in the Ferrari, so put your dick back in your pants. *Over the following, WE SEE a quick*: CUT INTO: SERIES OF SHOTS All taken from TV; a mansion from Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous; wealthy PEOPLE applauding at a polo match; a yacht sailing crystal blue seas; Robert Wagner and Stephanie Powers toasting with champagne on Hart to Hart. JORDAN (V.O.) In addition to Naomi and my two perfect kids, I own a mansion, private jet, six cars, three horses, two vacation homes and a 170 foot yacht. INT. HOTEL BEDROOM - NIGHT (FEB `95) *Sweaty, wild-eyed and naked, Jordan f**s an HISPANIC HOOKER from behind.* JORDAN (V.O.) I also gamble like a degenerate, drink like a fish, f** hookers maybe five times a week and have three different Federal agencies looking to indict me. *He dismounts, snorts some coke through a straw, then uses it to blow some into her a**hole.* JORDAN (V.O.): Oh yeah, and I love d**. *Jordan looks up suddenly, paranoid, as if he's hearing voices.* INT. HELICOPTER - NIGHT (FEB `95) *Jordan, drooling and stoned out of his skull, wears a rumpled custom-made business suit as he mans a set of controls next to his frantic co-pilot, CAPTAIN DAVE.* CAPTAIN DAVE: Pull up! Jesus! We're gonna crash!! *Jordan's head bobs as he pulls back on the stick. The helicopter rises sharply, then levels out, hovering 30 feet above a huge mansion. Down below, through Jordan's hazy, DOUBLE VISIONED POV, we see a sparkling pool, tennis court and waterfall.* JORDAN (V.O.): Check this out -- despite my completely f**ed-up state, I could fly straight while still seeing two of everything. *He closes one eye; his POV sharpens. Putting pressure on the stick, the helicopter descends slowly over the driving range... then LURCHES and SLAMS to the ground.* JORDAN (to Captain Dave) Ya guzza git hazarous doozy pay, buddy. INT. JORDAN'S ESTATE - FRONT DOOR - DAY (FEB `95) Morning. Sober now, impeccable in suit and tie, Jordan heads for the door holding a gla** of orange juice. JORDAN (V.O.): Yes, on a daily basis I take enough d** to sedate greater Long Island. EXT. JORDAN'S ESTATE – CONTINUOUS (FEB `95) *He pops two white pills, swigs some juice, then speaks directly to the camera as he heads for a waiting limo.* JORDAN: I take Quaaludes for my back, fifteen to twenty a day. I use Xanax to stay focused, ambien to sleep, pot to mellow out, c**aine to wake up and morphine because it's awesome. EXT. STRATTON OAKMONT III - LONG ISLAND - DAY (FEB `95) *The limo pulls up to the black gla** office building. Jordan gets out, heads inside through a back door.* JORDAN: But of all the d** under God's blue heaven, there's one that's my absolute favorite. INT. STRATTON OAKMONT III - JORDAN'S OFFICE - DAY (FEB `95) *Gadgets, computers, oxblood leather furniture. With the DIN of the brokerage firm bleeding in, Jordan uses a credit card to cut a line of coke on his desk. As he peels a crisp $100 DOLLAR BILL off a wad, rolls it up:* JORDAN: Enough of this sh**'ll make you invincible, able to conquer the world and eviscerate your enemies. *He SNARFS up the line, gestures to the c**aine.* JORDAN (CONT'D): I'm not talking about this. I'm talking about this. (Jordan unfurls the $100 with a SNAP) Money is the oxygen of capitalism and I wanna breathe more than any other human being alive. *He crumbles it into a ball and tosses it into a corner, where it comes to rest with two dozen others. Over his back as we TRACK HIM out of his office toward what sounds like the ROAR of a mob--* JORDAN (V.O.): Money doesn't just buy you a better life -- better food, better cars, better p**y -- it also makes you a better person. You can give generously to the church of your choice or the political party. You can save the f**ing spotted owl with money. INT. STRATTON OAKMONT III - BULLPEN – DAY (FEB `95) *Arms akimbo, Jordan stands above the bullpen, a huge open space with tightly packed rows of maple colored desks.* JORDAN (V.O.): But most of all, in any country in the world, money can buy you love. f** the Beatles. *His 300 BROKERS, mostly young men with their jackets off, scream wildly. They worship him.*