In plain words
The poet, of Tirukkōṭṭiyūr: Tirukkōṭṭiyūr is ringed with porches that give out a lustre from the fine bright gems and emeralds set into them; yet with fingers made for counting the sacred names of Tirumāl [consort of Śrī] there, some, not counting them for even a moment, turn away and cram mouthfuls into their foul mouths, made for eating.